



\ 







> • » . o ♦ <S^ -P " • • • -♦ - - * 






A PLEA 



FOR 



SPOKEN LANGUAGE. 



AX ESSAY UPON COMPARATIVE ELOCUTION, 

CONDENSED FROM LECTURES DELIVERED THROUGHOUT THE 

US I TED STATES. 









JAMES K. MURDOCH, 

Aitor, Reader, Instructor of Elocution, and Author of "The Stage." 




VAN ANTWERP, BRAGG & CO. 

CINCINNATI. NEW YORK. 



^$p 



Copyright 

1883 

Van Antwerp, Bragg & Co. 



(ii) 



Dedication. 



THIS VOLUME, 

A LABOR OF LOVE, 

I DEDICATE TO MY LOVED ONRS, 

MV DAUGHTERS 

16a, ilosnlic, and Tannic; 

WHOSE CONSTANT SYMPATHY AND AFFECTIONATE DEVOTION 

HAVE LIGHTENED MY LABORS AND ALLEVIATED MY CARES : 

A PRECIOUS LEGACY 

LEFT TO ME, LONG AGO, BY 

<Dnc 

TO WHOSE MEMORY THEY BIND ME 

MORE CLOSELY AS THE YEARS ROLL ONI 

A THREEFOLD GOLDEN COKU. 



(Hi) 



PREFACE 



In making my plea for the study of spoken lan- 
guage I have worked in the patient spirit of faith- 
ful investigation, aided by long experience and 
close observation ; in short, I have labored to make 
plain to others what I believe and know of the 
matter in question. 

Should my impressions and convictions meet 
with the approval of conscientious and impartial 
thinkers, I shall be content to await the final re- 
sult of public appreciation. I hope I am not mis- 
taken in believing that I have taken a step in the 
right direction, and that, ultimately, many will 
walk where but few now tread, in the light of 
knowledge derived from a thorough analysis of the 
constituent elements of the system, before seeking 
to understand and employ its combined principles 
for the purposes of education. I feel the impor- 
tance of the subject I have undertaken to expound ; 

(v) 



vi Preface. 

know its bearings and reach ; and am also con- 
vinced of the inefficiency of its present treatment, 
as far, at least, as underlying principles are con- 
cerned, in spite of the efforts of many able writers 
to reduce their theories to practical detail. 

I may, therefore, well be appprehensive of the 
result of my own labors in the direction of a more 
comprehensive exposition of the elements of the 
art of spoken language than that which has hith- 
erto occupied the mind of the educator. 

I have, however, made a well considered attempt, 
and I trust that the spirit of a progressive age 
will not lightly treat my claims to a patient hear- 
ing. 

The subject matter contained in this volume, and 
that of the manual which forms the second part 
of the work, is a condensation of numerous lect- 
ures, notes, and observations made during my 
career as instructor in this art. 

For the adaptation of my manuscript to the 

purposes of the present publication, I have availed 

myself of the clerical labors of my pupil, Miss 

Cora E. Gordon, whose valuable services it gives 

me pleasure to acknowledge. 

J. E. M. 

Cincinnati, June, 1883. 



CONTENTS 



Introduction 



PAGE 
9 



PART FIRST 

C MATTER 

I. The Early Writers on Elocution 

II. The Inflective System . 

III. Wright and Sheridan . 

IV. Sir Joshua Steele . 
V. Development of Systems 

VI. Dr. James Rush . 

VII. Rush's System of Notation 

VIII. Rush's System — Continued . 

IX. Reception of the Rush System 

X. The Author's Early Experience 

XI. Reasons for the Neglect of Elocution 

XII. Capabilities of the English Language 



19 
28 
29 

47 
62 

65 
79 
9i 

98 

105 
116 
125 



PART SECOND. 



I. Power of Voice and Gesture Compared. 
II. The Development of Language . 
III. Significance of Sounds. 



139 
152 
169 



PART THIRD. 



I. Popular Errors Regarding Elocution 

II. The Principles of Elocution. 

III. Necessity of Training the Voice . 

IV. Art not Opposed to Nature. 

V. Advantages of Methodical Study . 



(vii) 



187 
204 
21 1 
224 
233 



Vlll 



Contents, 



APPENDIX. 

CHAPTER 

I. The Principles of Rhythmus 
II. Essay on Rhythmus by Dr. Barber 

III. Selections Scored for Illustration . 

The Hermit.— Beattie 

Apostrophe to Light. — Milton . 

St. Paul's Defense before King Agrippa 

The Ocean. — Byron . 

Without God in the World. — Rev. Robert Hall 

IV. Hill's Essay. .... 

Application I. — Of Joy 

Application II. — Of Grief . 

Application III. — Of Fear 

Application IV. — Of Anger . 

Application V. — Of Pity . 

Application VI. — Of Scorn . 

Application VII.— Of Hatred 

Application VIII.— Of Jealousy 

Application IX. — Of Wonder 

Application X. — Of Love . 

An Example of Joy in Love 

An Example of Grief in Love . 

An Example of Fear in Love . 

An Example of Anger in Love. 

An Example of Pity in Love . 

An Example of Hatred in Love 

An Example of Jealousy in Love 

An Example of Wonder in Love 

An Example of Love Unmixed and Solitary 

Questions and Answers .... 



A PLEA 



SPOKEN LANGUAGE. 



INTRODUCTION. 



My object in the present publication is to offer 
to educators, and others interested in the universal 
spread of knowledge, an account of whatever elo- 
cutionary principles or methods I have found useful 
in my study and practice of the voice in speech. 
More especially, I desire to awaken such an inter- 
est in the subject of the culture of spoken language 
as will lead to a satisfactory consideration of the 
causes which have led to the present too prevalent 
idea on the part of school authorities that elocu- 
tion, as a special study, is inexpedient ; or worse, 
that it can not be successfully taught in connec- 
tion with the multifarious studies of the schools. 

Elocution, as taught at present, is, in most cases, 
considered and treated in theory and practice as 
little more than an imitative art, and as such yields 
its rightful position of honor and dignity as a branch 
of study based upon philosophic or scientific prin- 
ciples. Still, I feel from general indications of a 

(9) 



io A Plea for Spoken Language. 

reviving interest in this subject that nothing short 
of rational modes and methods of study will ulti- 
mately satisfy the earnest student. 

I am convinced, however, that the multiplication 
of mere rules and precepts can be of no avail 
until an active and a general interest amongst the 
thinking public, as well as amongst educators, is 
aroused in the true philosophy and full scope of the 
theory of the principles of expressive speech. 

Believing this, I have thought it advisable to 
demonstrate, through an historic and comparative 
treatment of the subject of elocution, its claims as 
a scientific study, and its possibilities as a disci- 
plined art ; and thence to show how a thorough 
universal system of instruction may be attained 
through intelligent and conscientious employment 
of materials already in our possession. 

No art or science ever sprang into existence in 
a full state of perfection. Each must have its be- 
ginnings, rude and simple, and only reach a condi- 
tion of complete development through gradual, 
oftentimes slow and discouraging, growth. This is 
exemplified in the history of the origin and progress 
of music, which proceeded slowly, from the simplest 
beginnings, through long periods of time in which 
it languished, was utterly neglected, and finally 
rose again to advance in triumph toward the con- 
summation of its powers. 

The progress of a science, through its various 
stages, is always the outcome of some inherent 
vital principles, recognized but dimly at first, in 
some generalistic form. As it advances, however, 



Introduction* i i 

in the course of development brought about by 
Lime and investigation, it gradually becomes divested 
of assumption and error, and the mind finally 
grasps those truths which, in the beginning, had 
been but vaguely apprehended, and more rapid 
growth toward final perfection is the result. 

The history of Elocution in modern times shows 
that it is no exception to this general law of grad- 
ual development, as I hope to show in the present 
volume, by tracing the progressive ideas which se- 
cured its advancement, from their origin with the 
English writers of the last century to their more 
complete development in the work of an Ameri- 
can author of the present century [Dr. James Rush], 
which marked a new era in the study of spoken 
language, and placed it upon a firm scientific foot- 
ing it had never before attained. 

Although Dr. Rush's work, "The Philosophy of 
the Voice," has been acknowledged by the ablest 
authorities to be founded in truth and expressed 
in reason, an opinion of its impracticable character 
has been asserted by those who have not fully 
comprehended the principles therein set forth ; and 
being thus unacquainted with the practical features 
of their application, either elementary or aggregate, 
they have been disposed to regard it as a merely 
visionary or learnedly mystified presentation of the 
nature and functions of audible speech. 

Such opinions have also resulted from a lack of 
investigation into what may be termed the historic 
facts of the subject. 

The possibility of defining and describing the 



12 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

sounds of the speaking voice, and of creating a 
notation and nomenclature similar to that which 
marks the nature and duration of the sounds and 
symbolizes the movements of the voice in song, 
was, for a long time, a favorite idea with some of 
the brightest intellects of the last century ; but the 
results of Dr. Rush's treatment of the subject, as 
we shall learn from the following pages, is but the 
exposition of a more perfect development of ideas 
which had their inception with these early writers, 
and but a complete evolution of truths that had 
long been recognized, though obscurely, to underlie 
the science of speech. He may be said to have 
simply renewed work upon an old vein of scientific 
inquiry which had been abandoned by others, and 
through their indications, and the aid of more effi- 
cient methods, succeeded in striking the solid ore 
of truth. 

Although our modern elocutionists, through a pe- 
riod of fifty years, owe much to Dr. Rush's ' ' Phi- 
losophy, " still, its principles have never been ac- 
cepted as an entirety either in letter or spirit; 
hence, there has been as yet almost no intelligent 
co-operation, and therefore no uniformity of result to- 
wards their general establishment in elocutionary 
instruction. 

A conscientious study of the Philosophy of the 
Voice, and long professional experience in the ap- 
plication of its principles, have convinced me that 
it is the true method, and my veneration for the 
Art of Elocution has filled me with an earnest de- 
sire to lead others to a like conviction. It has long 



Introduction. 13 

been, therefore, with me, a cherished desire to see 
these principles universally recognized and accepted 
in their integrity, and then educationally placed 
upon such a basis as will secure their sound and 
steady growth in the direction of perfection in the 
artistic uses of spoken language. 

As I have been laboring during a considerable 
part of my life, both in lecturing and teaching, to 
establish the truths comprehended in "The Philos- 
ophy of the Voice, " I now feel justified in be- 
coming their advocate in the present volume, and 
their practical expositor in the work which follows. 

I have no desire to be known as an originator 
of a theory or system. I only claim to have found 
the right way. I think it is De Quincey who has 
said, that he who brings to light, in any way, any 
thing of value to the general welfare that has been 
lost, obscured, or neglected, confers as great a fa- 
vor upon mankind as an original discoverer or in- 
ventor. It may be asked, why has not "The Phi- 
losophy," in its original form, met the necessity 
of the public. The question is easily answered by 
quoting Dr. Rush's own words: "He who renovates 
a science rarely adds the clearest economy of sys- 
tem to his work." 

The voluminous character of the book, therefore, 
in its elaboration of detail, argument, and explana- 
tion, has rendered it unwieldy, from a mental stand- 
point, as well as from a question of time, with the 
average student. Moreover, it is not, and does not 
claim to be, a series of fonmtlas and methods, and 
stated rules. It is rather a comprehensive statement 



14 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

of wide-reaching truths, and a suggestive exposition 
of means for reducing them to practice. 

Such a contribution to the subject of elocution 
as I propose in the present book and its compan- 
ion volume, will enable the student, not only to 
follow the march of ideas in their progress through 
truth and error up to light, but also to arrive at 
such a crystallization of all the truths on this sub- 
ject as must form the basis of any efficient working 
system that should be the standard of elocutionary 
excellence, and the root from which to expect 
sound elocutionary growth. It will be seen, there- 
fore, by such a treatment of the subject of elocu- 
tion, as represented in the old and new systems, 
how the elements of truth contained in the former 
will be illuminated, and thus rendered available and 
enduring, through a proper understanding and ac- 
ceptance of the system of Dr. Rush. 

I fervently desire to enlarge the area of informa- 
tion on this subject, and thus to lead to a more 
extended investigation into its claims and merits, 
not only as a science, but as a fine art. 

I feel assured that if a true presentation of this 
system of elocution can be placed in the hands of 
those who will recognize its dignity and value from 
an educational stand-point, the study of spoken lan- 
guage can not fail to be advanced, through their 
disciplined intelligence and unity of action, to the 
honorable position it deserves as an important feat- 
ure in all liberal education. 

The book which follows immediately upon the 
present volume will contain carefully graduated 



Introduction. 1 5 

elementary exercises in vocal drill, for the cultiva- 
tion of the voice in speech ; studies .in articulation 
and enunciation, and their syllabic combinations; 
together with the five modes treated of in "Rush's 
Philosophy of the Voice," under the heads of 
Quality, Force, Time, Pitch, and Abruptness, with 
explanations of the theory and rules for their prac- 
tical application to expression. 

It is hoped that the work may prove of value to 
the private student, the minister, lawyer, lecturer, 
or actor ; in short, to all whose professional neces- 
sities or private tasks require of them a disciplined 
and artistic treatment of the subject of spoken lan- 
guage. 



JParf JLmt< 



Past, Present, and Future of the Vocal 
Art ech. 



P. S. L. 



(17) 



Chapter I. 

The Early Writers on Elocution. 

Elocution is but an artistic copy of intelligent, 
significant, and expressive speech, as employed in 
our communication with each other, either in the 
energized enforcement of deliberate argument, the 
sympathetic and endearing expressions of affection- 
ate intercourse, the bursts of passion, or the or- 
dinary statement of facts and circumstances which 
concern our business or other relations. 

In all such communication nature supplies a sub- 
tle power, a more wonderful agency than mere 
words — the intuitive accompaniment of vocal signifi- 
cance. To arrive at some definite knowledge of 
the exact nature of these speech-sounds and their 
modifications, or, in other words, at a knowledge 
of the art-means for reproducing them in the pre- 
meditated language of reading and speaking, has 
been an object of research amongst nearly all of 
our English writers on the subject of elocution 
within the period of a century. Where the earliest 
of these writers found the subject, and the skepti- 
cism which prevailed concerning the possibility of 
describing or recording, with any degree of accuracy, 
vocal phenomena so fugitive, may be inferred from 

(19) 



20 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

the following, quoted from one of the works of 
Thomas Sheridan, the celebrated actor, writer, and 
lexicographer [1775]: 

"As words are marks of ideas; so are tones.of energies and 
affections of the mind ; and, as we can not make known our 
ideas to others without a sufficient number of words to mark, 
not only their difference in gross from each other, but also 
the nice distinctions of degrees in the same idea, together 
with their various relations, so can not we manifest or com- 
municate to others the several feelings of the mind in con- 
ceiving and uttering its ideas, and the various proportions 
of those feelings, without a suitable number and equally reg- 
ular and nice distinction of tones. But here art has entirety 
deserted us, and left us to guide ourselves as well as we can. 
And, indeed, all of her exertions seem to have been confined 
within the bounds of written language, where she has the 
faithful eye to guide by sure and fixed marks ; nor has she 
hitherto amongst us dared to make any excursions into the 
more extensive and nobler provinces of spoken language ; 
the ways through which are to be found only by the infor- 
mation of the uncertain ear, which, if not well instructed and 
early cultivated, must ever form a false guide. 

" Hence, it comes to pass that words, as marks of our 
ideas, are tolerably well regulated and reduced to order ; 
while tones, the marks of our feelings, are left wholly to 
chance ; the natural consequence of which has been that 
many discourses, good in themselves, are pronounced with- 
out affecting the hearers ; and that, in a nation abounding in 
good writers, a good speaker is a prodigy." 

The art of elocution was carried to a high degree 
of perfection amongst the Greeks, and we have 
reason to believe that they possessed a scientific 
analysis of the speaking voice, and a system of 
vocal culture founded thereon ; but, owing to the 
loss of so many of their works on the subject, par- 



Early Writers, 21 

ticularly of the primary manuals of the grammarians, 
and to the fact that the living tones of the language 
had long passed away, the moderns have had no 
means of judging how far the elements of vocal 
sound in speech were discovered and taught. The 
accentual marks — acute ('), grave (*), and circumflex 
( A v) — °f tne Greek language were understood to 
indicate certain sliding movements of the voice, 
through acuteness and gravity, or the scale of pitch, 
upon certain syllables over which they were placed. 
No exact knowledge, however, is transmitted of the 
definite character of these slides, or inflections, as 
they were called, nor of their exact uses in speech, 
farther than could be derived from such general 
statements as the following, from Quintilian. 

"As music, by means of tones, expresses various conditions 
of the mind, so does the raising, lowering, or other inflection 
of the voice in oratory tend to move the feelings of the 
hearers ; and we try to excite the indignation of the judges 
in one modulation of phrase and voice, and their pity in an- 
other." 

The grammar of the Greeks was taught in con- 
nection with the study of music, and many of the 
vocal characteristics of the latter was said to belong 
to their spoken language. Among the musical 
attributes claimed for their speech was that of mel- 
ody, or an agreeable order in the succession of its 
syllabic sounds through the scale of pitch, and 
rJiytlumis, or a certain measure in their progress ; 
but as to the detail of their application to speech, 
and of the differences between the science of speech 
and that of song, almost every thing, as in the case 



22 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

of the accents, was left to conjecture. Such were 
the only data possessed by our early English writ- 
ers concerning a science of spoken language from 
which they might proceed to a philosophical re- 
search into the vocal attributes of the living tongue. 

The first of the English writers who seems to 
have discovered that the modulation or variation as 
to acuteness or gravity of the voice in speech was 
something more than simple variations by means 
of long or short syllables, or swift or slow move- 
ment in their succession, was Charles Butler, of 
Magdalen College, Oxford, an old English gram- 
marian. 

But he developed the idea no farther than that 
a question beginning with a verb is to be read, not 
only in a higher tone, but with a different "turn" 
of the voice from the other questions. This same 
vague direction was again repeated many years after 
in a grammar by a Scotch writer named Perry. 

But no new light was thrown upon the subject 
of the vocal movements in speech until the publica- 
tion of a work by John Walker, who may be looked 
upon as the father of the English system of elocu- 
tion. He was also a Lexicographer who achieved 
the high honor of giving the British nation a stand- 
ard for pronunciation, and at a time, too, when the 
materials for his work were both scattered and in- 
complete.* 



• ; - The two great American works of definition and pronunciation 
of Webster and Worcester, which are now rivals for popular 
supremacy as authorities, are largely indebted to John Walker for 
facilities in the progress of construction, and for instances of gov- 
erning laws. 



Early Writers. 23 

Walker claims to have been the first to discover 
the upward and downward sliding movements of the 
voice in modern speech, to which he applied the 
terms rising and falling inflections, and published 
his discovery in a book dedicated to Dr. Samuel 
Johnson,, and entitled "The Elements of Elocution, 
in which the principles of Reading and Speaking 
are investigated, and such Pauses, Emphases, and 
Inflections of Voice as are suitable to every variety 
of sentence are distinctly pointed out and explained." 

After the publication of this book, Mr. Walker 
discovered that there were certain "turns of the 
voice " that he could not distinctly class with either 
the rising or falling inflection ; they were rather a 
combination of the two. These he classified as up- 
ward and downward circumflexes, and explained his 
views of them in some later works. 

The truth of these observations of Mr. Walker 
was disputed by many writers, who imagined that 
variation of voice as to high or low in the same 
word was, to use the words of Mr. Wright, ' ' retro- 
grade to the idea of common maxim and good 
taste," and for years the discovery was disregarded. 

Two other works on the art of delivery were 
published about this time by Thomas Sheridan, to 
whom I have already alluded, entitled respectively, 
"Lectures on Elocution" and "The Art of Read- 
ing." Sheridan was also the author of a valuable 
work entitled "British Education;" and of a diction- 
ary, which, though possessing great merit as a 
vocabulary, was not considered as elaborate as that 
of Mr. Walker. These writers were both well 



24 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

grounded in the classics, as well as masters of the 
English language, and were acknowledged as such 
in a period which is considered the Golden Age of 
English literature. 

Sheridan's works on elocution and delivery, al- 
though eloquently and impressively written, make 
no attempt at a philosophical analysis or description 
of the intonations of the speaking voice. He was, 
however, the first writer to call attention to the 
power of sound in our language, and to the fact 
that while scholars were skilled in letters, they were 
ignorant of the vital part of their native tongue 
existing in its vocal forms. 

Mr. Sheridan had many followers, all of whom 
set themselves against the system of Mr. Walker, 
and cried down his theory of inflections as absurd 
and productive of artificial effects. Toward the 
close of the century, however, the author of a 
small treatise, called ' ' The Art of Delivering Written 
Language," and dedicated to David Garrick, pro- 
duced a philosophical and convincing proof of the 
inflection of speaking sounds. This established the 
matter, and Walker's works became the accepted 
guides to the art of delivery. His theories were 
adopted by Lindley Murray in his celebrated gram- 
mar, and his symbols of inflection (' r A v)> desig- 
nated respectively by the terms acute, grave, and 
circumflex accents, borrowed from the Greek, from 
the supposed analogy in their application, were made 
use of in Enfield's "Speaker." The system now 
received universal approbation, and was taught by 
all masters of elocution. 



Early Writers. 25 

Another writer on the art of spoken language, 
contemporary with Walker, was Sir Joshua Steele, 
who published in London, in 1775, " Prodosia Ra- 
tionalis, an essay towards establishing the melody 
and measure of speech, to be expressed and per- 
petuated by peculiar symbols;" the object of which 
was to prove that the English language possessed 
those vocal attributes of accent (slide) and quantity 
supposed to belong exclusively to the classic tongue. 
It is one of the most valuable contributions to the 
subject of spoken language ever written, fully estab- 
lishing the theory that the tones of the voice in 
speech are capable of a definite measurement and 
visible notation, as in song. 

The work was not intended as a manual of elo- 
cution, nor could its principles have been applied 
to instruction in that art without a special study 
of its somewhat difficult theory and symbols of 
notation. 

In elocution, Walker's works were, as I have said, 
the accepted and popular text-books for reading 
and speaking. Steele's theory, therefore, which was 
long in advance of the age, finally found a resting- 
place on the undusted shelves of English libraries. 

Contemporary with the writers I have referred to, 
were many able men who maintained and promul- 
gated the theory that reading and public address 
could not be taught save in a restricted sense, as- 
suming the ground that their graces and forces 
were gifts of nature. For many years, therefore, 
the systems of the authors in question, and of their 

disciples, had to contend with adverse public opin- 
p. s. L.-j. 



26 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ion, notwithstanding the many and bright examples 
furnished by their pupils of the efficiency of their 
instruction. 

The combined influence, however, of Walker and 
Sheridan tended to awaken a new interest in read- 
ing, which, up to their time, had been taught in a 
hard, dry, mechanical manner, entirely devoid of 
expressive meaning. Save a strict injunction to 
drop the voice at the end of a sentence, no attempt 
had been made to give variety to its sounds, but 
the pupil was allowed to drone on like the buzz of 
a bee-hive. 

" Those who taught the first rudiments of read- 
ing," says Sheridan, "thought their task finished 
when their pupils could read fluently, and observe 
their stops. This employment, requiring no great 
talents, usually fell to the lot of old women, or 
men of mean capacities, who could teach no other 
mode of utterance than what they possessed them- 
selves, and consequently were not likely to com- 
municate any thing of propriety or grace to their 
scholars." 

It was the idea of giving the variety of nature to 
the reading tone that led Walker to adopt his system 
of inflections, the notion of which he seems to have 
conceived by observing the contrary movements of 
the voice in asking and answering questions. 

Although this author claimed the theory of in- 
flections to have been his own, it is possible he 
obtained his idea of the slide as applied to modern 
speech from Steele's valuable essay, though evidently 
adapting the application of the principles to his 



Early Writers. 27 

individual views on the subject. We are left largely 
to conjecture upon this point, since, although con- 
temporary, each of these authors seems to ignore 
the other. 

Amongst the- disciples of Walker and those who 
may be accounted as original writers on the subject 
of elocution, were Mr. James Wright, of Magdalen 
College, Oxford, and Mr. B. H. Smart, of London. 
Both wrote early in the present century. 

Smart's works were written with a view of famil- 
iarizing foreigners with the pronunciation and other 
vocal peculiarities of the English language. Much 
of his analysis is given up to the alphabetic ele- 
ments of speech, but he also pursues the inflective 
idea in his teaching of delivery, displaying in many 
cases, however, a perception of the nature of vocal 
effects much beyond that of Mr. Walker. Mr. 
Smart was the author of a dictionary, and ranked 
very high as an authority in pronunciation. 

Besides these writers on the subject of delivery, 
there were few others that could be named as in any 
degree original. Many compilations were made, em- 
bodying the Inflective or English System, and it be- 
came the authority in this country, as well as in 
England, in all elocutionary teaching up to the pub- 
lication [1827] of Dr. James Rush's Philosophy of 
the Voice, of which I shall speak hereafter. 



Chapter II. 
The Inflective System. 

I will first direct the reader's attention to a con- 
sideration of those movements of the voice called 
inflections, and their application to the utterance of 
language, which formed the great feature of Mr. 
Walker's system of elocution. 

Walker starts out with the proposition that all 
vocal sounds are either musical sounds or speaking 
sounds, the latter being such as continue a given 
time on a precise point of the scale, and leap, as it 
were, from one note to another; while speaking 
sounds, instead of dwelling on the note they begin 
with, slide either upward or downward to the neigh- 
boring notes, without any perceptible rest on any; 
so that musical and speaking sounds are essentially 
different. Considering this, he found the primary 
division of speaking sounds to exist in this upward 
and downward slide of the voice ; and that whatever 
other diversity of time, tone, or force was added to 
speaking, it must necessarily be conveyed by these 
two slides or inflections, either simple, or in their com- 
pound form of the circumflex. They were the axis, 
he thought, on which the force, variety, and harmony 

of speaking turns ; the great outlines of Delivery. 
(28) 



The Inflective System. 29 

Walker's entire system of treating spoken lan- 
guage was based upon the idea that the grammat- 
ical structure of a sentence, or the rhetorical struct- 
ure of a period, must determine, not only its sense, 
but also the character of its emphasis and its vari- 
ety in the employment of the inflections of the 
voice, — the rising inflection being found to express 
a certain suspension or incompleteness of sense, 
and the falling, the reverse — and the various mem- 
bers of a sentence were shown to preserve their 
correct relations, and their character of either con- 
tinuation or completion, by a proper application 
of these different inflections to the various words 
concluding either of the phrases. "The inflection 
which ought to follow the semicolon, the colon, 
and the period," he tells us, "may be either the ris- 
ing or falling, according as the sense or the har- 
mony require ; adapting the elreation or depression to 
different degrees, as may be reqnircd, though the dif- 
ferent degrees of rising and falling on the inflection 
w r hich ends the words, are by no means so essen- 
tial as the kind of inflection." The following sen- 
tences are given by Mr. Walker as examples of 
what has been described: "As we can not discern 
the shadow moving along the dial'-plate, so the 
advances we make in knowledge are only perceived 
by the distance gone over. As we perceive the 
shadow to have moved, but did not perceive it 
mo'ving ; so our advances in learning, consisting of 
insensible steps, are only perceivable by the dis- 
tance gone over. As we perceive the shadow to 
have moved along the dial, but did not perceive 



30 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

its moving; as it appears that the grass has grown, 
though nobody ever saw it gr'ow: so the advances 
we make in knowledge, as they consist of such mi- 
nute steps, are only perceivable by the distance." 

"In these examples," says Walker, "the words 
'dial-plate,' 'moving,' and 'grow,' marked with the 
comma, the semicolon, and the colon, must necessa- 
rily end with the rising inflection ; and if this inflec- 
tion be employed, it is not of any consequence to 
the sense whether it be raised mncli or little. On the 
contrary, if the falling inflection be adapted to any 
of these words, though the degree of it may be 
little more than perceptible, the sense, as will be 
found on trial, will be greatly altered. The very 
same points, however, if the sentence were differ- 
ently constructed, would require the falling inflec- 
tion." 

Upon this same principle of indicating continua- 
tion and completion of sense, all forms of sentences 
and periods are marked to be read. 

Emphasis, or the particular distinctions of some 
words above others, he claimed, also, to be effected 
by inflection as well as by a certain stress, or 
force, thus : ' ' Every emphatic word, properly so 
called, is as much distinguished by the inflection 
it adopts as by the force with which it is pro- 
nounced." 

Still, in giving examples, he only defines the 
expressive character of the two inflections in this 
regard negatively, as it were, by showing that the 
inflection must shift from falling to rising, and vice 
versa, according to the position of the word in the 



TJic Inflective System. 31 

sentence, the structure of which is thus made to 
govern even the form of the inflective emphasis. 

As an example of this we have the following, in 
which "indifferent" is the word to be distinguished: 
1 ' Exercise and temperance strengthen even an in- 
different constitution;" while, in the following, the 
inflection of the emphatic word is changed, as a 
necessity of developing the sense, in the changed 
form of the sentence : "He that has but an indif- 
ferent constitution, ought to strengthen it by ex- 
ercise and temperance." 

He shows us, it is true, that the downward in- 
flection accompanies the most positive form of 
emphasis, and yet the arbitrary variety he enforces 
overrides this in a regulated succession of rise and 
fall. The following is an example : "As two in- 
flections in the same member can not be alike ; if 
the second branch of the first member has the ris- 
ing, the first branch must, of course, have the fall- 
ing, inflection ; and, as the last branch of the sec- 
ond member forms the period, and therefore re- 
quires the falling, the first branch of this member 
must necessarily have the rising, inflection ; this is 
the arrangement of inflection which seems univer- 
sally adopted by the ear, and it will be found, 
upon experiment, no other is so various or musical, 
thus : ' The pleasures of the imagination, taken in 
their full extent, are not so gro v ss as those of se'nse, 
nor so refi'ned as those of the understanding. 

Besides the variety arising from annexing inflec- 
tions to sentences of a particular import or struct- 
ure, there is still another source of variety, he tells 



32 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

us, in those parts of a sentence where the sense 
is not at all concerned, and where the variety is 
merely to please the ear, thus : ' ' The immortality 
of the soul is the basis of morality, and the 
source of all the plea'sing ho v pes and secret jo'ys, 
that can arise in the hea'rt of a reasonable creat- 
ure. " This he terms " harmonic inflection." 

It will not be necessary to supply further exam- 
ples of the application of inflection, but simply to 
place before the reader the author's enunciation of 
the principles upon which, in this theory, it is 
founded. 

"So important is a just mixture of these two inflections 
that, the moment they are neglected, our pronunciation* be- 
comes forceless and monotonous. If the sense of a sentence 
requires the voice to adopt the rising inflection on any par- 
ticular word, either in the middle or at the end of a phrase, 
variety and harmony demand the falling inflection on one 
of the preceding words; and, on the other hand, if emphasis, 
harmony, or a completion of sense requires the falling inflec- 
tion on any word, the word immediately preceding almost 
always demands the rising inflection ; so that these inflections 
of voice are in an order nearly alternate." 

In the preceding summary we have the substance 
of Walker's theory of the principles governing the 
application of inflection to the sounds of the speak- 
ing voice. Although he was undoubtedly in pos- 
session of one of its leading principles, still, his 
method of applying this principle was so arbitrary 
and empirical that his system led, in many cases, 



* Pronunciation in that time referred to the delivery of a dis- 
course, not, as now, to the utterance of single words. 



The Inflective System . 3 3 

almost of necessity, to a mechanical style of utter- 
ance, rather than, as he intended it should, to a 
copy of natural speech. In fact, much of that 
chanting or "sing-song" style of delivery, so of- 
fensive in the manner of public reading for nearly 
a century, may be attributed to the inflective sys- 
tem of elocution. 

That I may make manifest to my readers the 
fact that I have not been single or severe in this 
observation, I here introduce a few lines from a 
comprehensive treatise on vocal subjects, — pub- 
lished in London, about fifty years after Walker's 
first publication. The writer says : 

"This system, which is evidently founded on the national 
tones of this country, rather than upon nature, has been, like 
most other artificial systems, very much abused, and produc- 
tive of more injury, in many cases, than of benefit. The reason 
is, that, in order to teach it thoroughly, and impress it upon 
the pupil, the inflections must be caricatured, and made more 
distinct and strong than they are in natural, elegant, and easy 
pronunciation. The falling slide must be carried several notes 
downward, and the rising slide several notes upward, instead 
of a single note or half note, as it ought to be. The pupil be- 
ing in this manner taught the elements of the system in a car- 
icatured artificial manner, has his ear and his taste so corrupted 
that he carries the same caricature into his finished manner of 
delivery, and renders himself ridiculous and disgusting, as it is 
uniformly set down by the hearers to affectation, the very worst 
fault which a speaker can be guilty of. It would be better to 
have the unstudied manner of every-day life in public speak- 
ing, however ungainly, than this system of caricatured elocu- 
tion, so much in fashion among professional students. 

"One argument which we think unanswerable upon this 
point is, that not one of our great public speakers, in any one 
of the professions, adopts this artificial system of inflection, 



34 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

nor appears to have studied it. Indeed, it would appear finical 
in the last degree in Mr. Canning, Mr. Brougham, or Dr. 
Chalmers to mar their great efforts of oratory by such petty 
rules of slides and inflections of the voice. 

" We do not ?nean to say that they do not e?nploy them ; for 
they are more or less e?nployed by all who speak the English 
langiiage ; but we are certain they do not caricature them, as 
every pupil of teachers of elocution we have ever heard infalli- 
bly does, because he has not art enough to conceal his art, and 
makes the inflections so distinct that they are as offensive to 
the ear, as glaring colors in a painting are to the eye. 

"We hesitate not to conclude, therefore, that, though Mr. 
Walker has made a most ingenious analysis of the inflections 
of the voice, we can not help thinking that it is calculated, 
when brought into actual practice by rule, to produce stiffness, 
affectation, and a monotonous sing-song manner of speaking, 
the very reverse of what he intended, and what is expected by 
those who devote themselves to the artificial study of elocu- 
tion." 

In another connection, the same author has the 
following : 

" Besides the varieties of voice known to the science of music, 
the ear, by attention, may easily recognize many minute ca- 
dences and transitions, which have a very great effect upon the 
sounds, both of speaking and singing. These transitions, so 
far as regards speaking, Mr. John Walker distinguished by the 
name of slides ; and, by introducing certain characters and dia- 
grams into the system, endeavored to establish, on this princi- 
ple, a perfect method of oratorical delivery. But, so far as we 
are able to judge, this has not been the result. This, however, 
is only the abuse, and not the judicious employment of the sys- 
tem itself. The author's original exposition of this system is 
a fine example of analytical observation on the subject of the 
voice." 

It must appear, from the preceding, that the 
fault does not lie so much at the door of the in- 



The Inflective System. 35 

flective system, as it does in the uncertain manner 
in which the inflections themselves were explained 
and notated by their author. That which caused 
all the after error was that his analysis of this ris- 
ing and falling movement of the voice was not suf- 
ficiently close to enable him to define the exact, 
or even approximate, degrees of rise and fall, as 
well as the relative position of each sound on the 
scale of pitch. 

In the science of music, certain lines and spaces, 
called the staff, are used to indicate to the eye the 
divisions of the scale of pitch, as to high or low, 
with certain marks, denoting the position of partic- 
ular sounds in any composition, called notes. This 
is called musical notation, and enables the singer 
to reproduce the sounds as they stand thus marked, 
with perfect exactness, by the voice. 

The object of employing symbols for the eye in 
speech was for the same purpose — that the voice 
following such indications might reproduce certain 
effects. 

But no approach to the determinate character of 
musical notation existed in the speech notation of 
Mr. Walker ; for, while those inflections, symbol- 
ized by the acute, grave, and circumflex accents, 
indicate general movements of the voice, they give 
no certain idea of the extent of its upward or 
downward course, nor of its. starting point upon 
the scale. 

Again, his inflective symbols were, in most cases, 
employed only to mark the words bearing empha- 
sis, or to designate those vocal movements which 



2)6 A Plea, for Spoken Langtiage. 

mark the different members of a sentence, either 
by a continuation or a completion of its. sense, 
thus furnishing no guide for the eye in the case 
of the words of the intervening language. 

In addition to the accents already described, Mr. 
Walker, in order to give an idea of his theory of 
inflection, makes use of a series of inclined planes 
to indicate "something," as he tells us, "of the 
wave-like rising and falling of the voice, which 
constitutes the variety and harmony of speech," 
thus: 




But this means of indicating the movements of 
the voice, as far as applying it to the purposes of 
practical instruction is concerned, was even more 
vague than the marks of inflection. 

While the student of this system was enabled to 
gain, through the treatment of what may be called 
the sentential points of elocution (or the relation 
of the voice to the sense of the language as de- 
pendent upon its grammatical or rhetorical struct- 
ure),. — some positive instructions concerning the 
merely intelligent reproduction of the language he 
read, he found all uncertain and undefined in the 
directions by which he was to attain to the ability 
to give fitting vocal expression to the language of 
emotion and passion. 

It is true Mr. Walker showed that the use of 
the circumflex conveyed a certain significance of 



TJic Inflective System. 37 

irony, sarcasm, etc., and that certain portions of 
discourse were affected, according to the nature 
of the sentiments involved, to either a high, low, 
or middle position on the scale ; but, as the cir- 
cumflex was without measure as to kind or degree 
in the emotions it was used to describe, and as 
his description of modulation involved no analysis 
of the mode of transition from one part of the 
compass to the other, they were both but indefi- 
nite indications to the student of vocal effects. 

In his treatment of the voice under other modi- 
fications, such as time, force, etc., he is even more 
loose and undefined than in the matter of inflection 
and modulation. Indeed, he expresses his entire 
obscurity regarding the matter of the passionative 
expression of speech, as follows : ' ' The tones of the 
passions are qualities of sound occasioned by certain 
vibrations of the organs of speech, independent on 
high, low, loud, soft, quick, slow, etc." 

The vital principles of the voice, it has been 
said, consists in those tones which express the emo- 
tions of the mind ; and the language of ideas, how- 
ever correctly delivered, without the addition of 
this language of the passions, will prove cold and 
uninteresting. As there are other things, there- 
fore, which pass in the mind beside ideas, and as 
we are not wholly made up of intellect, but, on 
the contrary, the passions and the fancy compose 
a great part of our complicated frame, and as the 
operations of these are attended with an infinite 
variety of emotions in the mind, both in kind and 
degree, it is evident that unless there be some 



3& A Plea foi' Spoken Language. 

means of analyzing and reproducing the vocal signs 
of the latter, we have not compassed all the ends 
of art in reading. 

A complete system of analytic elocution, then, 
must not only prepare the reader to deal with the 
understanding, but also to add the means of ap- 
pealing to the feelings and the imagination through 
a thorough and disciplined knowledge of the laws 
underlying those vital vocal forces which are the 
soul of all that naturalness of effect so much to be 
desired in reading or in any form of premeditated 
utterance. 

In pointing out the imperfections of Mr. Walk- 
er's system of elocution (which, from its general 
acceptance, may be regarded as a generic term 
for the English system), I do not wish it to be 
understood that I undervalue his long and service- 
able labors to introduce a more correct knowledge 
regarding the uses of the English language in ar- 
tistic speech ; or, that I ignore the usefulness of 
his excellent writings upon rhetoric and philology. 
To this eminent master of elocution, and to Steele, 
we owe the first attempt to definitely describe and 
reeord the variations of the voice in speech. But, 
valuable as are his distinctions and illustrations of 
sentential enunciation, his complete work falls short 
of what may be justly termed an accurate and 
philosophical treatment of the subject of spoken 
language. 



Chapter III. 

Wright and Sheridan. 

I have mentioned Mr. James Wright as a disci- 
ple of Walker's, and an able writer on the inflective 
system. He is considerably in advance of the for- 
mer in his treatment of inflection, as well as in 
some other points. To quote his own words : 

"Very little consideration will convince the student that 
phraseology is composed of certain members or clauses which 
modify, and of others which arc modified ; and, by attending 
to oral discourse, he will easily discover that there is a charac- 
teristic feature of the voice in the pronunciation of a proposition 
which indicates either continuation or completion. As, there- 
fore, the least signification of one or more clauses may be re- 
strained or altered by the power and influence of others more 
significant; so, in the delivery of them, that the progress and 
completion of a whole passage may be gradually conveyed to 
the ear, the attention must be kept alive by suitable degrees of 
suspension of the voice. If, from this, we take a more enlarged 
view of oral sounds, we shall find that in the arrangements of 
diffuse periods there may be members signifying completeness 
as to meaning which have certain degrees of intonation, and 
which, to indicate their just relations to a whole, terminate with 
proportionate qualities of voice. Thus, in the most rude and 
uncultivated appearance of the subject before us, we are sensi- 
ble of something like leading principle and rule; but the indefi- 
nite idea of sound and its relation to articulate voice, seems to 

(39) 



40 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

.have involved the thoughts of those hitherto interested in the 
inquiry in considerable obscurity. For this reason, perhaps, the 
nethod for conveying information to students in elocution has 
not been sufficiently pertinent. 

"Frequently the spirit of a proposition depends more upon 
the peculiar turn of voice than upon that stress which assists 
in placing varieties in contradistinction one to another." 

He therefore proceeds to treat the subject with 
more accuracy as regards the measurement of the 
individual inflections and their relative position on 
the scale under certain modifications of sense, al- 
though the general principle of their uses in sen- 
tences remains the same, as seen from the remarks 
just quoted. In his notation he makes use of the 
musical staff, with certain symbols, to mark the 
direction and extent of the slide or inflection, as 
thus: 

A scale of the principle inflections in compact 
sentences. 

Is it A / or V B ? 

Is it A B ? 




2 



^: 



-^ 



The voice, in pronouncing "A," ascends from 
the middle of the scale to the top ; in pronouncing 
"B, " it descends from the middle to the bottom; 
these inflections, therefore, are called the extreme 
rising and falling inflections. 

Another scale gives us the principal inflections 
in loose sentences of two members, as follows : 



Wright and Sheridan. 



4i 




Musical Scale 



Is it A J 



S 



-TTT 



S 



"The musical scale represents the true modulation [varia- 
tion] of speaking sounds ; it also points out an interesting phe- 
nomenon for the contemplation of musicians. There is no 
other way of forming the complete cadence of speech, than in 
sliding the voice downward into another key, as in the above 
example. 

"A and Care the two extreme inflections, as before explained. 
The voice, in pronouncing the former B, descends from the top 
of the scale to the middle, and in pronouncing the latter B, it 
ascends from the bottom to the middle ; the two B's are there- 
fore called middle inflection. 

" The middle falling inflection signifies that a portion of 
meaning is formed, but that something more is to be added. 

" The middle rising inflection prepares the ear for the cadence 
or entire conclusion. 

" The extreme falling inflection implies that the sentence is 
complete. 

"The following sentence is an example, to be read following 
the principle explained in the above notation : 

" Nothing can atone for the want of moMesty, without which, 
beauty is ungraceful and wit detcs v table." 



In speaking of the relations between inflection 
and agreeable sound, he observes that "the deliv- 



p. s. L.- 4 . 



42 A Pica for Spoken Language. 

ery of a period may be an expressive echo to the 
meaning. The whole, from the beginning to the 
middle, and from the middle to the end, should 
advance with an easy elevation and depression of 
voice." This variety of inflective progression he 
designates as "the tunes of the voice," and it cor- 
responds in idea to the "harmonic inflection" of 
Walker. 

He also observed that the distance traversed by 
the inflection is governed by the excited feelings, 
claiming the musical fifth for the measure of the 
inflection of ordinary unexcited speech ; still, he 
offers no close analysis of this mental and vocal 
relationship. As regards the other vocal attributes 
(besides inflection) of speech, he is practically but 
little in advance of Walker. His sentential treat- 
ment of elocution is, however, equally fine. 

Wright was the first writer on elocution to intro- 
duce a description of the vocal organs in connection 
with the theory for the improvement of the speak- 
ing voice ; the latter, however, was, in his case, 
but little in advance of what had been given before 
by Sheridan and Walker, and which had come down 
from the Latin writers ; viz. , a distinct pronuncia- 
tion of the elements, the proper manner of pitching 
the voice in public address, and a few other gen- 
eral instructions. 

I have already said that Thomas Sheridan at- 
tempted no scientific analysis of the ' ' tones of the 
voice," although he was an acknowledged master in 
their use. He recognizes constantly the variety in 
speech sounds. He often makes use of the expres- 



I Trio lit and Sheridan. 43 

sion "change of note" and "note of the voice" to 
express this variety, and a general change in the 
pitch, but makes no attempt to describe in what the 
change consists. He also constantly speaks of the 
existence of certain tones at pauses, by which the 
sense as to the relationships of the various parts is 
indicated, but does not attempt to analyze the ele- 
ments of this significance. Sheridan's latitude of 
treatment of the subject in this regard, may, no 
doubt, be referred to his aversion to the mannerism 
which arose from the inflective system. 
In allusion to this he says : 

" We are aware that there are few persons, who, in private 
company, do not deliver their sentiments with propriety and 
force in their manner, whenever they speak in earnest. This 
fact gives us a fixed standard for propriety and force in public 
speaking ; which is, only to make use of the same manner in 
the one as in the other. And this men would certainly do if 
left to themselves, if early pains were not taken to substitute 
an artificial method in the room of that which is natural. Of 
ninety-nine persons in a hundred who had just delivered their 
thoughts extemporaneously upon any subject with propriety of 
delivery, hardly one could be found who could repeat the same 
words from the written or printed page without a total change 
for the worse in tones, emphasis, and cadence. The reason 
for this is that we are taught from our earliest youth to read in 
a different way, with different tones and cadences, from those 
which we use in speaking. Our education substitutes a few ar- 
tificial distinctions for the endless variety of inflections, tones, 
emphases, and cadences furnished us by nature." 

Again, he speaks of the ' 4 artificial tones annexed 
to stops by the masters ;" which, he adds, 

" May justly be called the trading tones, in opposition to 
those of the speaking kind. Of those tones in general, there are 



44 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

but two used,— one which marks that the sense is not completed, 
another which shows that the sentence is closed. How little 
fitted they are to answer this end, one may judge by considering 
that the tones preceding pauses and rest in discourse are ex- 
ceedingly numerous and various, according to the sense of the 
words, the emotions of the mind, or the exertions of the fancy. 
As the one (of what he calls the artificial tones) consists in 
a uniform elevation of the voice, and the other in a uniform de- 
pression of the voice, we need be no longer at a loss to account 
for that disagreeable monotony which so generally prevails in 
reading. 

" In this case we may apply to reading what Montesquieu has 
observed of the laws : ' There are two sorts of corruption — one 
when men do not observe the laws, the other, when they are 
corrupted by the laws ; an incurable evil, because it is in the 
very remedy itself.' " 

The only observation of law he recommends to 
the reader is a practiced imitation of the natural 
tones, as they represent the various phases of 
thought, emotion, and passion in ordinary utterance, 
a careful copy of ' ' the vivifying, energetic language 
stamped by God himself upon our natures." 

Sheridan entered into a closer analysis of the al- 
phabetic elements of the language, with regard to their 
vocal value, singly and in combination, than any 
other writer of his time, and maintained that the 
basis of all eloquent delivery consisted in a thorough 
mastery, in the beginning, of the separate pronunci- 
ation of these elements. And, although he did not 
do much beyond this to positively instruct in the 
use of the spoken forms, — that is, by his writings, — 
except as regards accent and pronunciation, which 
were in an unsettled condition at that time, he cer- 
tainly did much to arouse an interest and give an 



Wright and Sheridan. 45 

impetus to the art of eloquence. His books, apart 
from their philological and rhetorical treatment of 
language, may be regarded more as a masterly plea 
for the study and practice of spoken language as an 
art, than a statement of practical methods. That 
is, he recognized and enforced the just ends of the 
art, but offered no scientific means through which 
these ends might be accomplished. He urges the 
claims of the spoken language almost to the dispar- 
agement of the written ; but this was but the re-ac- 
tion of an eloquent man against the indifference of 
the age to eloquence. The reader will find many 
of his valuable ideas concerning the power of sound 
in speech embodied in Part Second. 

Sheridan's profession as an actor led him to real- 
ize the full vocal value of the spoken language, and 
to feel the necessity of a revival in its study as an 
art. The same may be said, indeed, of Walker — 
who was also an actor — though each employed a 
different method to achieve the same end.* 

Sheridan may be said to have favored "word 
painting" and a progress of sounds, or melody, made 
up from following the movements of unpremeditated 
speech, varied and impulsive ; while the tendency of 
Walker's teaching was to create a style of artificial 
utterance, possessing the graces of oratorical expres- 
sion founded on the idea of classic forms and meas- 
ured cadences. As regards the style of their own 
individual delivery, Sheridan was dramatic, pictur- 



* The stage in Johnson's time was regarded as the standard of 
pronunciation. 



46 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

esque, and impulsive ; Walker, more .declamatory, 
studied, and cold. 

Foote, in his "Anecdotes," in speaking of Mr. 
Walker's reading, has the following: 

"In the recital of the sublime passages of Milton and our 
best poets, he has long been justly celebrated; and the ed- 
itor of these volumes once heard him read the Lord's Prayer 
in a tone of such fervor and piety as excited a wish that 
the powers of this impressive science might be more culti- 
vated by the professors of our holy religion. Sheridan was un- 
doubtedly a great and a popular actor; and had he possessed 
the tact and business qualifications of Garrick, the control of 
a theater, and, above all, the happy knack of entertaining 
and managing critics and men of letters in general, he would 
have divided the throne with the modern Roscius. 

"Garrick was more afraid of Sheridan than of any other 
actor of his day, and employed all his theatrical and per- 
sonal influence to check his career. Sheridan depended more 
for his effects upon the power of language in its expressive 
forms, while Garrick relied more upon pantomime, or phys- 
ical expression." 



Chapter IV. 

Sir Joshua Steele. 

Sir Joshua Steele's essay on "The Measure and 
Melody of Speech," was not published as an elo- 
cutionary treatise, or, strictly speaking, as a work 
on delivery ; but its composition was undertaken, 
he tells us, to prove the contrary of the assertion 
in Lord Monboddo's "Origin and Progress of Lan- 
guage," that "the English has neither the melody of 
modulation nor the rythmus of quantity," claimed 
Lo attributes of the learned languages. The first 
few chapters of the essay were communicated to 
the author in question, who frankly acknowledged 
the truth of many of its propositions. The re- 
mainder of the work was developed through an 
amicable controversy carried on between these two 
gentlemen by means of letters, Lord Monboddo 
proposing his doubts and queries on the subject 
under consideration, and Sir Joshua answering them 
in their order. 

To give the reader an idea of the spirit and 
leading features of the work is all that is accessary 
for the development of my subject. 

The fundamental truth upon which Steele based 
his investigations into the laws governing the sound 
of the speaking voice, was that the organs and 

(47) 



48 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

faculties destined for the utterance of speech are, 
and have been, generally of the same structure and 
power in all the human species at all times, and 
that as all spoken language must, therefore, have 
the same great organic laws in common, our mod- 
ern tongue could not be so far removed in the 
vocal character from those of classic times as to 
warrant the statement of many of the writers on 
this subject. Under this persuasion, he adds: 

"I was of opinion that, by employing my thoughts in and 
upon my native language, I should sooner be able to dis- 
cover, to analyze, and to describe separately what appeared 
to me to be the essential properties or accidents in enuncia- 
tion, than if I had determined, in the first instance, to take 
nothing but what I could derive from the writings of the an- 
cients; or, in defiance of my senses, reject any discovery of 
my own unless I could make it bend to the vague and dis- 
cordant rules of commentators. I therefore resolved to de- 
pend neither on hypothesis nor on ancient authorities for 
any facts which I could obtain by actual experiment." 

Proceeding upon this rational plan of investiga- 
tion, he sought to demonstrate the fact that speech 
and song were but different branches of the same 
art, having many governing laws in common, but 
with certain essential and demonstrable differences ; 
and, that as the latter had been reduced to the 
rules of art by an analysis of its especial attributes, 
so the former was amenable to similar treatment. 

The art of music, he states, whether applied to 
speaking, singing, or dancing, is divided into two 
great branches — sound and measure, more familiarly 
called tunc and time. For the latter, he employs, 
as more significant, the terms melody and rJiytJimus. 



Sir Joshua Steele. 49 

First, then, as to melody. In experimenting on 
the sounds of the speaking voice with the trained 
ear of the musician, he discovered that the slide, 
or accent of the Greeks, not only existed in our 
language, but was the necessary accompaniment of 
every syllable of spoken language. Walker, as we 
have seen, attributed this slide or inflection to the 
entire word. These accentual slides of the voice, as 
Steele called them, either acute (rising) or grave 
(falling) or circumflex (rising and falling, or the re- 
verse), he perceived to run through a large extent 
between acute and grave, and, in their varied order 
of succession, through this compass of pitch, to 
constitute a melody of speech, on the same princi- 
ple that the variety in the successive pitch of the 
musical notes produces the melody of music. 

To understand this more perfectly, the reader 
must have some knowledge of the modern or dia- 
tonic scale of music. This may be defined as a 
series of sounds moving from grave to acute, or 
from acute to grave, by a succession of skips or 
intervals, each sound or note dwelling, for a perceptible 
length of time, on exactly the same degree or point 
of the scale. 

The succession of sounds called the scale (from 
scala, a ladder), from the progressive steps by 
which they proceed from the lowest to the highest, 
are seven in number, each sustaining a fixed rela- 
tion to the first, and separated from its proximate 
sound by a regulated interval that is large or 
small in accordance with its position in the scale. 
The eighth tone from the concordance of its vibra- 

P. S. L.-5. 



50 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

tions with those of the first, assumes to the ear 
the character of the first, and has, therefore, been 
termed its repetition upon a higher pitch. 

The intervals between the first and the second, 
and the second and the third, the fourth and the 
fifth, the fifth and the sixth, and the sixth and 
the seventh sounds of the scale are large, and have 
been termed full tones. The distances between the 
third and fourth, and the seventh and eighth, are 
small, and have been called half-tones or semi-tones. 

The scale is graphically represented by symbols 
placed upon a series of lines and spaces, called the 
staff, resembling a ladder. Each space and each 
line represents a certain degree of pitch, from the 
lowest upward, and the symbols represent higher 
or lower tones, as they occupy higher or lower 
positions upon the lines and spaces. 

The distance between two degrees of pitch of 
different elevations is called an interval, that is, an 
intermediate space or distance, and each interval 
has a name which depends upon the number of 
degrees of the scale which it embraces. The first 
degree of pitch of a given series of intervals is 
called the prime or first, the distance to the next 
adjoining degree is called the interval of a second. 

From the first to the third degree is an interval 
of a third, from the first to the fourth an interval 
of a fourth, and so on to the eighth or octave. 

Melody in music is an agreeable and regulated 
variation of its notes through these varied inter- 
vals— " Whereas," says Steele, "the melody of 
speech moves rapidly up and down (by slides), 



Sir Joshua Steele. 5 1 

wherein no graduated distinctions of tones and semi- 
tones can be measured by the ear." 

As to the distance traversed on the scale by the 
syllabic slides, he states that they pass variously 
through the extent of a fifth, more or less, or as 
great an extent, at least, as that allowed to the 
Greek accents. 

He conceived the exact measure of these slides 
could only be made by quarter tones or enhar- 
monic intervals, a division of the scale but little 
known to the moderns (the semi-tone being the 
least interval of the chromatic or diatonic scale). 
In making use, however, of this division of the 
scale for the purpose of measuring the slides, he 
says, "It will be sufficiently accurate to call every 
degree of tone a quarter tone that does nor corre- 
spond to any tone or semi-tone of the chromatic- 
diatonic scale." He does not, however, insist upon 
so accurate a measurement of the slides for the 
purposes of ordinary notation, his object being 
more essentially to show their relative proportions, 
and the manner of their succession in the natural 
utterances of language. 

In devising a scheme for expressing on paper 
the notation of the accentual slides, etc., Steele 
chose one which might come as near as possible 
to the modern notation of music, in order that it 
might be intelligible to those whose idea of sounds 
and measure of time were already formed on that 
plan. 

Taking the lines and spaces of the musical staff, 
then, and, for example, the words oh, ho, he marks 



52 A Plea for Spoken Language. 



the upward accentual slide on oh, 
thus : * 



Oh 
and a falling slide on ho, thus : zz 



Ho 
The circumflex, which he designated severally 
the acuto-grave and the gravo-acute, 
were represented by the following 
symbols, placed on the musical staff 
similarly to the accentual slides : 

His theory of rythmus was that all utterance 
follows the great law of pulsation and remission 
resulting from -organic exertion and recovery from 
exertion, as exhibited in the beating (or systole- 
contraction, and diastole-expansion) of the heart. 
Thus: "Our breathing, the beating of our pulse, 
and our movement in walking, make the division 
of time by pointed and regular cadences." 



* Mr. Steele tells us that, in forming his accentual symbols, he 
had no intention of imitating the form of the Greek accents, and 
yet, in pursuing his scheme, he hit upon exactly the Greek form. 
"Why," he says, "did the Greeks mark their accents by exactly 
such sloping lines, if they did not mean them as we do, for the 
expression of a slide upward /, or a slide downward \?" 

The Greeks, however, called their most acute sounds low, and 
their most grave sounds high. But Mr. Steele explains this cir- 
cumstance in this way; viz., that it arose from the fact that all 
grave sounds (slides) must begin comparatively high, in order to 
end grave, by sliding downwards, and that the acute sounds must 
begin comparatively grave in order to ascend. 

In the original Steele manuscript the slides were sometimes 
curved instead of being directly upward or downward. This indi- 
cated that the sound hung longer on the first part of the slide than 
on the last. 

• As it does not affect the melody, we have not deemed it necessary 
to use it in the example on pages 56 and 57. 






Sir Joshua Steele. 53 

The pulsative movement of the voice on a sylla- 
ble (which corresponds to what, in the present ac- 
ceptation, we call accent) he called arsis* or heavy 
poise, and the remiss he called thesis^ or light 
poize (unaccented). 

These Greek terms he claims to indicate similar 
accidents in that language to those he here used 
them to describe. He showed that by the natural 
alternations of the heavy syllable, which he marked 
thus A» and the light or lightest, marked thus . \ 
and thus. ••, all speech was divided into regular 
cadences or measures of time, similar to those of 
music, — every syllable of our language being af- 
fected either to heavy or light, though some are 
of a common nature, and may be used with either. 

As in music, the notes have a relative time or 
duration in sound, so he observed the syllables of 
speech to be similarly affected ; this quantity or 
duration of sounds, distinguished by longer or shorter, 
being subservient to the cadences of rythmus as 
fractional parts to integers — the alternations of heavy 
and light, keeping all the cadences of an equal 
length by their regular pulsations. Accepting this 

* Arsis : Webster says, its ordinary use is the result of an early 
misapprehension ; originally and properly it denotes the lifting of 
the hand in beating time, and hence the unaccented part of the 
rhythm. That elevation of voice now called metrical accentuation, 
or the rythmic accent. It is uncertain whether the arsis consisted 
in a higher musical tone, greater volume, or longer duration of 
sound, or in all combined. 

t Thesis : the depression of the voice in pronouncing the syllables 
of a word. The part of the foot upon which such a depression 
falls. 

The unaccented or unpercussed part of the measure, which the 
Greeks expressed by the downward beat. 



54 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

principle as common to both speech and music, he 
adopted the bar ( | | ), as employed in the former 
to mark cadence from cadence to the eye, together 
with certain symbols, to indicate the different quan- 
tities or proportions of time in the syllables, and 
their corresponding rests or pauses. 

The quantity or time of syllables he marked 
thus, the opposite symbols 
indicating severally, lo?igest, I H Q Y 
bng, shoii, shortest, while the J 
marks for the rests, sever- 
ally corresponding, are rep- A 
resented thus : > £ ™ I 1 

To the symbols or notes ) 
of speech, already described, representing the slides 
and circumflexes, the marks of quantity were at- 
tached, so that the extent of the slide or circum- 
flex, and, the time of its duration, were marked by 
the one symbol, as follows : 

For the several notes thus formed, and for their 
rests, he adopted the terms of common music, as: 

a semi-bnei-2 minims = 4 crotchets = 8 quavers 

asemi brief rest^ 2 minim rests = 4 crotchet rests = 8 quaver rests 

I = — - = rrrr = Trm~m 



Sir Joshua Steele. 55 

He also employed the method used in common 
music of lengthening a note by the addition of a 
point, thus : 

Other affections of. the speaking voice were indi- 
cated by the musical terms, forte, loud ; adagio, 
slow ; piano, soft ; allegro, quick or fast ; largo, a 
middle degree between fast and slow ; staccato, 
sounds with a short pointed expression, and sos- 
tcnuto, tones equally sustained. 

The forte and piano of the voice he further sym- 
bolized as follows : 

Increasing in loudness: ^vaaaAAAAAAAAAAA^ 
Decreasing in loudness: \/\/\/\/V/VV\/VW\Aaaa 
Loudness uniformly continued : 

AAAAAAAA^AAAAAAAA 

The following notated passage from Hamlet will 
illustrate the application of these symbols to the 
representation of the several attributes of the voice 
comprehended under melody and rhythmus ; as, 
accentual slides, arsis, and thesis or cadence ; quantity, 
or long and short ; and force, or loud and soft. The 
Hamlet text stands exactly as Steele gave it ; in it, 
he ignored lines and capitals. 

Any one at all familiar with music will be able, 
with what explanation has been given, to at least 
approximately follow the movements of the voice 
here indicated : 



56 A Plea for Spoken Language. 



Largo. 

»rr' 



t.,: l yfy.ij N ;. | jj. | .i 



±k 



A.'. A.\ 
To be! 



A .\ A . . .*. A .'. A .*. A .*. 
or not to be? that is the question. 



■e*- 



fejfefct 



ff- 



3- 



3* 



£ 



^ 



5 



y^ \ 



\ 



A . . .'. A .'. .-. A .'. A .'. A .. . - . 
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the 



H|P|:H|K|E *ft^ 



A .*. A /.A.. /. A /. A .'. A.'. A., 

stings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to 

f AAAAAAA 



4|H|.U.|H|P |^ 



.'. A •'• . A .*. A .*. A /. A 

take arms against a sea of troubles, and by op- 

A/VVVVVvVVVv^AAAAAAAA/VWVWvVWVWWWVVW\ 



x^f-P v-/ Y» Y« 2 



O.J. y> O. y O. 



^F^g 



s^ 



£ 



±5 



fk 



A /. A .'. A.'. A/. A .". A.'. A/. A :. 
posing, end them? to die, to sleep, — No more, 



/WVMAAAWM 



Sir Joshua Steele. 



57 



<*19 



^ 



Q >v Q w O w O 



/ 



£ 



i^ 



it±k 



i^t 



£ 



5 



A .'. A /. A .". A .*. A 

and by a sleep, to say, we end the heart ach 



-*> 



■i -I i P j | j/.r.i i jp ^^ 



A . . 




A 


A . . .'. 


A 


A 


and 


the 


• thousand 


na tu ral 


shocks that 


flesh 



^ i fr^Jj I- *£ ***» 



^k 



A .'. 
heir to:- 



A .. .*. .. A . . .'. A .. .'. A .*. 
'tis a con sum ma tion de vout ly to be wish'd. 



* AAAMAAAAA/WWWWWWWWWNAA 

This speech (of which I here give but a part), 
the author tells us is not noted as a specimen of 
the correct delivery of the passage, but in the style 
of the ordinary actor of his time, and simply to 
illustrate how the sounds of the speaking voice may 
be recorded.* 



• : When this system was explained to Mr. Garrick, among many 
judicious remarks and queries, he asked this question : 

"Supposing a speech was noted, according to these rules, in the 
manner he spoke it, whether any other person, by the help of these 
notes, could pronounce his words in the same tone and manner ex 
attly as he did ? " 

To which he was answered thus : 

" Suppose a tirst-rate musician had written down a piece of music, 
which he had played exquisitely well on an exceeding fine toned 



58 A Plea for Spoken La?iguage. 

This is but a bald outline of the essential prop- 
erties or accidents of enunciation as discovered and 
set forth by the author, but it is enough to show 
what a vast step was here taken toward the for- 
mulation of a science of spoken language. 

The principles of pulsation and remission, as the 
result of a universal organic law, have been since 
practically developed and taught as a primary ele- 
ment in elocutionary training by a few able writers 
and teachers ; but the great principle of melody 
in speech was long allowed to remain a dead letter 
in the study of delivery.* 

That the theory of melody, though conceded by 
learned men to be correct, did not meet with a 
more substantial acknowledgement was owing, no 
doubt, to its supposed impracticability. We have 
this opinion expressed in the following commentary 
on the work, from a learned contemporary of the 
author : 

"I am far from thinking Mr. Steele's notation of the mel- 
ody of speech was not his own discovery, though it is as old 
as Pythagoras, and mentioned by almost all the Greek writ- 
ers on music now remaining, and particularly described by 



violin ; another performer, with an ordinary fiddle, might undoubt- 
edly play every note the same as the great master, though, per- 
haps, with less ease and elegance of expression ; but, notwithstand- 
ing his correctness in the tune and manner, nothing could prevent 
the audience from perceiving that the natural tone of his instru- 
ment was execrable ; so, though these rules may enable a master 
10 teach a just application of accent, emphasis, and all the other 
proper expressions of the voice in speaking, which will go a great 
way in the improvement of elocution, yet they can not give a sweet 
voice where nature has denied it." — Steele. 



See Pt. 4, Rhythmus. 



Sir Joshua Stale. 59 

some. But Mr. Steele has certainly the merit of having re- 
duced it to a practical system. It seems, however, to require 
so much practice to obtain a facility in executing the slides, 
and especially the circumflexes with the velocity and neat- 
ness necessary to imitate common speech that I despair of 
its ever coming into use." 

Lord Montboddo thus expresses his convictions 
and those of all the musical men to whom he had 
shown the treatise concerning the subject of spoken 
language as treated by Steele: 

"It is reducing to an art what was thought incapable of 
all rule or measure; and it shows that there is a melody and 
rhythmus in our language, which I doubt not may be improved 
by observing- and noting what is most excellent of the kind in 
the best speakers''' 

The principle object of Steele's essay being to 
prove the existence of certain phenomena, and the 
possibility of observing and recording these phe- 
nomena by means of a system of notative symbols, 
he does not enter into that close philosophical 
analysis of the correspondences between the vocal 
effects he describes and their ' ultimate producing 
causes in the mental condition of thought, emo- 
tion, or passion in the speaker, which is needed 
to make a complete exposition of the subject of 
spoken language for the purposes of elocutionary 
study. 

He recognizes some general facts, however, in 
the philosophy of these mental and vocal corre- 
spondences, as the reader will see from the follow- 
ing extracts: "Wherein," says Lord Montboddo, 
"does the difference consist betwixt the tone of 



60 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

passion and the musical tones of acute and grave?" 
Steele's answer is : 

"The tones of passion are distinguished by a greater ex- 
tent of the voice, both into the acute and grave, and by 
making the antithesis or diversity between the two more re- 
markable. Also by increasing the forte and making contrasts 
occasionally between the forte and piano, and by giving an 
extraordinary energy and emphasis, and blending the forte 
now and then with the heavy poize, or arsis ; and lastly, by 
sudden and desultory changes of the measure, and of its 
modes — that is, from fast to slow, and vice versa — and from 
common to triple time, and vice versa 

" In the various tumults of passion, the voice runs very 
high into the acute, and very low into the grave 

"I suppose there are as many circumflexes as there are 
different tempers and features in men. The dialectic tone of 
the court, and other polite circles, rises but little above a 
whisper, and may be compared to that species of painting, 
called the chiaro-oscuro, which is denied the vivacity of ex- 
pression by variety of colors. There the circumflex, though 
it can not be left out of the language, is used within very 
narrow limits, frequently not rising or falling five quarters 
of a tone, and, for the most part, hurried over with great ve- 
locity in the time of a quaver or shorter note. But, in the 
court language there is no argument; for, in the senate, and 
where that is used, the extent of the slides is enlarged to the 
extreme, so the circumflex is never so apparent as in the 
provincial tone. 

"In plain, unimpassioned sentences the addition of piano 
ox forte, to any sensible degree, would convert plain discourse 
into bombast." 

Steele's treatment of the slides at pauses is sim- 
ilar to Walker's inflection at periods and half pauses, 
though he does not enter into the subject at all 
explicitly : 



Sir Joshua Steele. 6 1 

"The accent (slide) must always be liable to be changed 
according to the position of words, whether in question or in 
answer, in a suspended or in a final sense. 

"In our language generally the last syllable of any imper- 
fect sentence (while the attention is to be kept up for the 
sense of the whole yet in suspense) ends in the acute (rising), 
and all complete periods end in the grave (or falling), ac- 
centual slide." 



Chapter V. 
Development of Systems. 

Of the many problems placed before man for 
solution, none could be more difficult than that of 
defining and describing the various movements and 
other attributes of the speaking voice. 

Although the labors of Walker and his disciples 
failed to accomplish a perfected result in this di- 
rection, their works, together with those of Sheri- 
dan and Steele, marked an era in the study of the 
vocal art in speech, and paved the way for the 
more perfected discoveries of a later day or age. 

Both Walker and Sheridan, in spite of their elab- 
orate works devoted to the subject of elocution, 
and of the long and earnest labor they performed 
in elucidating their theories and imparting their 
principles, both as lecturers and teachers, confess 
to having fallen short of that at which they aimed ; 
for, as they have both averred, they were more 
successful in making good readers, through the 
mere imitative method, than by teaching the rules 
of the systems which bear their respective names. 
Walker thus sums up the result of his labors : 

"I have worn out a long life in laborious exertions, and 
though I have succeeded beyond expectation in forming 
(62) 



Development of Systems. 6 



readers and speakers, in the most respectable circles of the 
three kingdoms, yet I have had the mortification to find few 
of my pupils who listen to any thing but my pronunciation. 
I have been generally obliged to follow the old method — if 
such it may be called — 'Read as I read without any reason 
for it.'" 

In the preface to one of Walker's books, which 
was intended by him to be exhaustive of the sub- 
ject of elocution, he says, with a commendable 
sense of his own diligence, ' ' It is presumed that 
it is the most perfect of its kind in the language." 
Nor was this boast without foundation at the time 
it was uttered. His mind was evidently reaching 
forward toward a complete exposition of the true 
science of elocution, as a vine puts forth its feelers 
in every direction in search of something by which 
it may climb into the sunlight. But it was reserved 
to a later time to attain to that to which he as- 
pired, or to complete the work he had but begun. 
Although, at the close of his career, he realized 
that he had comparatively failed to identify or de- 
scribe the subtler attributes of significant and ex- 
pressive speech, he lost no faith in its ultimate 
accomplishment, but looked forward to the solution 
of the problem by some mind more analytic than 
his own. In speaking of some illustrious exceptions 
amongst his pupils, to the rule of mere imitation. 
he says : 

"Such satisfactory evidences of the value of systematic 
elocutionary training, leads me to hope that some more suc- 
cessful practitioner may supply a much needed want by the 
discovery and use of a more thorough ancl efficacious system 
than I have been able to invent." 



64 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

And again, he says, in speaking of his theory: 

"Thus we have endeavored to delineate those outlines 
which nothing but good sense and taste will fill up; and if, 
instead of leaving so much to taste as is generally done, we 
were to push as far as possible our inquiries into those prin- 
ciples of taste and beauty in delivery, which are immutable 
and eternal; if, I say, we were to mark carefully the seem- 
ingly infinite variety of voice and gesture in speaking and 
reading, and compare this variety with the various senses 
and passions of which they are expressive ; from the simplicity 
of nature i7i her other operations, we have reason to hope that 
they might be so classed and arranged as to be of much easier 
attainment, and productive of much certainty and improve- 
ment in the very difficult acquisition of a just and agreeable 
delivery." 

Indeed, he looked to the active genius of the 
French, "so remarkably attentive to their own 
language," to lay the foundation of a new and 
comprehensive analysis of the vocal elements of 
language, by the aid of which the laws governing 
its effects in speech might be definitely and philo- 
sophically explained. Mr. Walker's hopeful antici- 
pations have been realized, and it is a fact of which 
we may well feel proud, that it was the genius of 
America that finally placed elocution upon a firm 
basis of scientific truth. 



Chapter VI. 

Dr. James Rush. 

Dr. James Rush, of Philadelphia, while pursuing 
his medical studies abroad, became much interested 
in the subject of the voice in its relations to artis- 
tic speech. In his researches into the subject in 
connection with his professional studies, he con- 
sulted the various works of the authors we have 
already enumerated ; but, becoming fully aware of 
the imperfect state of the history of the vocal func- 
tions in speech, as set forth in the writings in 
question, he set to work to investigate the subject 
of elocution as a matter of physiological inquiry. 
To this work he brought the philosophic training 
and accurate habits of the man of science, and the 
just ear of the skilled musician, to which was 
added a cultivated acquaintance with the fine arts, 
derived from an extensive European observation 
and study. He possessed, moreover, the character 
of an independent thinker, and that large and gen- 
erous spirit which labors on in the cause of truth 
undiscouraged by lack of public appreciation, and 
is bold and fearless in the enunciation of its convic- 
tions. What more favorable combination of capa- 
bilities could have been desired for the successful 

P. S. L.-6. (65) 



66 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

analysis of the vocal constituents of language, and 
their relations to the artistic uses of speech? 

When Dr. Rush first turned his attention to the 
phenomena of the voice (1820), ingenious theories 
as to the structure and action of the vocal organs 
were numerous amongst physiologists of the highest 
rank, but conflicting in their statements and unavail- 
able for the purposes of practical utility to the 
teacher or student of vocal expression. Thus, what- 
ever facts of physiological research might have been 
made serviceable for the discipline and development 
of the voice in speech, were buried in a mass of 
prejudice and arbitrary assumption, until it seemed 
doubtful whether any exertion of human skill could 
extract a single practical ray of truth from the dis- 
puted question. Dr. Rush, in pursuing the subject 
of vocal mechanism, by adhering closely to the laws 
of analytic investigation, succeeded in clearing away 
much obstructing matter, but became finally satis- 
fied that no exact truth with regard to the vital 
principles of speech could be discovered in such re- 
searches, on account of the impossibility of observ- 
ing, with accuracy, all the actions of the living 
organs during the production of speech sounds.* 
He therefore turned his attention to a close obser- 
vation and analysis of vocal sotind itself, having con- 



* Of whatever service the discovery of the laryngoscope has 
been to pathological science, or to that of vocal music, it has 
failed to throw any further light on the subject of the produc- 
tion of what may be called the note of speech, owing to the fact 
that the peculiar action of the organs in the spoken utterance of 
vowels or syllabic sounds displaces the instrument, and thus pre- 
vents any accurate observation of their exact producing causes. 



Dr. /avics Rush. 67 

ceived the idea of making his combined knowledge 
of music and physiology serve him in this labor. 
Although availing himself of the suggestive ideas 
of the systems which had preceded him, especially 
of that of Steele, he passed beyond their uncertain 
foot-prints, and sought the revelations of truth 
where most surely to be found — from nature herself. 

While his brother physiologists were carefully 
inspecting the cartilages and muscles of the larynx, 
that they might invent learned theories concerning 
the causative mechanism of the various vocal effects, 
Dr. Rush was applying the keen scalpel of analyt- 
ical dissection to these very effects, studying and 
noting their form and degree, together with their 
exact relations to the various states of mind which 
are their primary producing causes. 

The first valuable facts he obtained he applied to 
his recollections of the beautiful elocution of Mrs. 
Siddons, which he regarded as a perfect model of 
elegant and natural speech ; and, continuing his re- 
searches into the elementary nature and functions 
of vocality, he succeeded in measuring the move- 
ments of the voice by means of a fixed scale, and 
in making other valuable discoveries with regard to 
the nature of the various vocal phenomena exhibi- 
ted in the variety of natural speech. These phe- 
nomena he recorded by means of intelligible sym- 
bols, and an accurate nomenclature, and classified 
them in strict accordance with the natural laws 
governing their relation to thought and passion, in 
his work entitled "The Philosophy of the Human 
Voice." (The first edition was published in 1827; 



68 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

the second, in 1833; and finally the sixth, in 
1867). 

A brief analysis of Dr. Rush's mode of investi- 
gation, and a synopsis of the chief features of his 
discoveries, may enable the reader to form at least 
a general idea of the value of the latter, in their 
relation to the elocution of the past and of the 
future. 

The slide and its application to certain syllables 
was known to the ancients; but it is impossible 
to say, at present, how far the knowledge of this 
principle extended. 

Walker and others used the word slide, or in- 
flection, in a vague and undefined manner. 

Steele was more accurate than Walker in his 
treatment of the slide, showing how it might be 
carried on the syllables of speech, through the 
compass of the musical scale. He entered, how- 
ever, into no discriminative analysis of. the vocal 
properties of this slide and their peculiar functions 
in the expression of thought and passion ; and, val- 
uable as were his contributions on the subject, he 
fell short of a perfect development of the vocal 
functions "by assuming identities," says Rush, 
"which do not exist, between certain points in 
music and speech." He adds that Steele possessed 
' ' power sufficient, when not restrained or per- 
verted, to have developed the whole philosophy of 
speech." 

Dr. Rush, in his investigations into the subject 
of this vocal slide, by careful observation and ex- 
periment, discovered that a vowel sound, in its ca- 



Dr. James Rush. 69 

pacity for prolongation in accordance with the nat- 
ural law of the vocal mechanism, was susceptible 
of this continuous movement, rising or falling, from 
its inception at one point of the scale to its ter- 
mination at another, through the interval of a sec- 
ond of the simple and familiar diatonic scale. He 
next traced this stream of sound through other 
wider intervals of the scale, as the third, fifth, and 
octave. To this progressive movement of sound, 
exhibited on each separate impulse of the voice, 
elemental or syllabic, he gave the name of the vo- 
cal concrete — sound concreted or grown together — 
either as expressed on the upward or downward 
continuous progression of sound ; or, on those more 
extended sweeps of the voice, composed of a blend- 
ing of the upward and downward movements, or 
the reverse, which he called a wave instead of a 
circumflex, as more appropriate to its vocal form. 
The fact that as the concrete carried the voice 
either upward or downward on each separate sylla- 
bic utterance, necessarily involved a repetition of 
the concrete movement on the next, and hence a 
fresh starting point, which, being more or less re- 
mote, with regard to the preceding concrete on the 
scale of speech, caused a point, or interval of silence, 
between the syllabic impulses, thus suggesting, from 
its separating character, the opposite term, discrete 
movement. The varied succession of these two 
movements of concrete and discrete pitch, he found 
to constitute the melody in speech, and to be a 
constant and measurable accompaniment of all spo- 
ken language. 



yo A Plea for Spoken Language. 

The act of performing the movements of pitch 
through any interval, concrete or discrete, of the 
scale in speech,- as in song, he called intonation. 
He was the first writer to make use of this term 
as applied to the sounds of speech, although it had 
been in use amongst writers on music for at least 
a century, to denote the precise recognition of in- 
tervals. 

The concrete intonation was supposed with the 
Greeks to belong exclusively to speech, and the 
discrete to music, but Dr. Rush showed that they 
both belonged to speech, and carried with them, 
both severally and in their successions in melody, 
a certain significance and power of expression. 

Melody, as here described, is not that regular 
recurrence of sounds constituting the offensive pe- 
culiarity commonly called " reading in a tune," but 
that agreeable variety in their order of succession 
which constitutes one of the graces of language, 
adds to its power of expression, and relieves it of 
tedious monotony or of sameness in effect. This 
was the principle of the speaking voice Steele so 
clearly demonstrated to exist, though not pursuing 
it into its expressive functions, and which the other 
writers sought to describe under the terms of 
** tunes of the voice," "harmonic inflection," etc. 

Thus Dr. Rush's close study of the natural ut- 
terance resulted in the long deferred consummation 
of a definite and tangible measurement of the ex- 
tent of the speech intonations, and in a satisfactory 
and practicable treatment of the melody of speech. 

But one of the crowning - features of his discov- 



Dr. James Rush. 71 

cries, and one which he may be said to have 
worked out without even a suggestion from his 
predecessors, was that this concreted stream of the 
elementary or syllabic sounds of language was the 
vocal current on which were borne those peculiar 
stressful effects of force or of significance which 
vitalize all utterance, and constitute, in great meas- 
ure, the emphasis of language. 

These different forms and varieties of the con- 
crete, he found to spring from one generic root, 
in the formation of the vowels, — a mere point of 
sound, produced by an occlusion in the larynx, and 
the subsequent ejectment of air from the lungs, 
overcoming the momentary resistance by the means 
of certain muscular agencies. 

He observed that the vocal effect heard in the 
vatural eougJi formed this "root of vocality " in 
all the vowel sounds, and he made it apparent by 
the execution of a voluntary cough, imitated from 
the natural act. 

This abrupt effect, he found to mark, in a greater 
or less degree, the inception of every vowel sound, 
and hence to be the root of every syllable in 
speech. He next observed that this vocal impulse 
was susceptible of a graceful and delicate conclusion, 
well exemplified in the natural sigh — a gradually 
diminishing process or vanish of sound, into which 
the radical attenuates in what he called the equable 
concrete of speech, existing in the ordinary utterance 
of unimpassioned language. 

He then observed in the peculiar extended or 
drawn out sound o'i the yawn, the type of that 



72 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

swell or expansion of the voice-material on the 
vocal or syllabic concrete utterance, often heard as 
a natural and beautiful expressive effect. This he 
called the median stress ; while that distinctly marked 
jerking movement or accumulation of force at the 
end of the sneeze or hiccough, served as an illustra- 
tion of a third natural expressive form of force ap- 
plied to the syllabic concrete, which he called van- 
ishing or final stress. 

This analysis of the force applied to the vocal 
concrete, gave a definiteness to the study of the 
former attribute of the voice, never before attained ; 
for here were recognizable forms of force described, 
where previously there had been nothing observed 
but the general variations of strong and weak, pr 
forte and piano. These modifications of degree rep- 
resented the intensity, or muscular exertion, applied 
in the formation of the several forms or stresses 
named. 

In connection with this elementary analysis, Dr. 
Rush also made a masterly exposition of that attri- 
bute of the voice known in music as timbre, and 
which he designated as quality, or kind, descriptive 
of its peculiar sound, independent of height or 
depth. 

In this connection, he made apparent, through 
his study of the mechanism of the elements, tJie 
means for improving the natural voice to its fullest 
capacity for agreeable sound by a correct practice 
in their formation. 

All previous writers had described the vowels as 
sounds flowing through opened organs, not recognizing 



Dr. James Rush. y$ 

the vital part of their mechanism as existing in 
the closing or occlusion of the inner mouth. A 
correct practice in elementary training on this root 
of vocality or radical of the vowel sounds, Rush 
showed to form the basis of nearly all voice devel- 
opment. 

The idea of a special vocal culture, or elementary 
training for speech, originated with this author, and 
forms one of the great features of his system of 
vocal principles. 

It had been, it is true, an acknowledged idea 
that the speaking voice could be improved by prac- 
tice in reading aloud, and Sheridan, Wright, and 
Smart recommended an elementary training on sep- 
arate elements for the sake of improving distinct- 
ness of articulation, but it was disconnected with 
any definite idea of improvement of the quality of 
the voice. 

The discovery of the syllabic function of the rad- 
ical and vanish also enabled Dr. Rush to throw a 
great light on the subject of quantity, which Steele 
was the first to prove was a positive value in our 
language. His elucidation of the subject of con- 
crete intonation, particularly in that form called the 
wave, demonstrates the fact that certain syllables 
are capable of indefinite extension, for the purposes 
of beauty and expression, without falling into the 
level note of song or the drawl of speech. 

Hut the great fundamental principle of Dr. Rush's 
philosophy of spoken language, and one overlooked 
in an}- thing like scientific detail, as we have al- 
ready noted, in former systems, was that every state 
p. s L.-7. 



74 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

of the mind had its corresponding vocal signs in some 
of the varied forms of pitch, force, time, and quality. 
These vocal signs he observed and recorded, not 
only as we have briefly described, with reference 
to their individual form and character, but classified 
them on the principles of this natural relatio?z to the 
mental phenomena of which they are the audible indi- 
cation. In other words, he found that the concrete 
interval of the second on each syllabic utterance, 
proceeding in their succession by discrete intervals 
of a second, was the proper or natural means for 
expressing unimpassioned thought or the plain state- 
ment of facts ; while a syllabic progression through 
the more extended concretes, with accompaniments 
of extended discrete movements, or jumps of the 
voice, and the additional modifications of stress, 
quality, time, etc., he found to be adapted to the 
varied expression of feeling and passion. It is a 
remarkable fact that, among those who have em- 
ployed and borrowed from Rush's principles of 
speech, the greater number have overlooked this 
essential difference between the vocal forms of hu- 
man thought and human passion. 

A description of the various elements of the voice 
in speech which we have noted in this brief sum- 
mary, in all their variety of form, application, and 
continuation in the progression of syllabic utterance 
in speaking or reading, goes to make up the sum of 
Dr. Rush's contribution to the art of spoken lan- 
guage, and to prove that there is a science of 
speech analogous to that of music, and possessing 
equal elements of growth and perfection. 



Dr. James Rush. 75 

From even so brief a review of the salient feat- 
ures of this author's discoveries, I think the reader 
will be able to see that the syllabic concrete was 
the simple key by which he unlocked the supposed 
mysteries of the speaking voice. 

In the process of developing the subject by a 
farther and more practical treatment, it will be 
shown how this vital element of speech-sound, in 
all its forms and modifications, is but the natural 
outcome or result of the laws governing the mech- 
anism of the vocal apparatus, as well as of those 
controlling the relations existing between vocal 
sounds and corresponding mental conditions ; and 
that its intelligent exercise and application in the 
cultivation of the voice and ear, will place within 
the student's reach those processes of art by which 
he may reproduce all the seemingly subtle effects 
of natural speech. Dr. Rush has clearly demon- 
strated, in his illumination of the subject, how, by 
an imitated execution, in the processes of vocal 
training on elements and syllables, of the vital 
constituents of expression in the human voice (in- 
cluded in the several stresses, the equable concrete, 
and the various degrees of concrete and discrete 
pitch), an intelligent mastery is to be obtained over 
all the powers, graces, and discriminations of force, 
quantity, and quality of which language is capable, 
and which mark its emphatic or significant uses 
in intelligent or expressive langua 

After having discovered all these attributes of 
the voice in speech. Dr. Rush succeeded in record- 
ing a description and explanation of them by em 



7 6 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ploying a definite and intelligible nomenclature, and 
also a simple form of visible notation. Many ob- 
jections have been made to the former, on the as- 
sumed ground that it involves the subject in too 
many technicalities and complexities, while the lat- 
ter has been condemned, in cases of misapprehen- 
sion of its real intent and purpose, as calculated 
to create an artificial or mechanical manner in read- 
ing or speaking, by applying the line and rule of 
measurement to what should be an apparently spon- 
taneous exhibition of natural effects. Let us con- 
sider the subject in its true bearings. The want 
of clear and precise ideas, as affixed to the terms 
used in scientifically treating any subject, must al- 
ways be the source of much error. The remedy 
can only lie in employing terms that will convey 
definite perceptions to the mind, by the aid of 
which it may reflect upon the principles that are 
presented to its consideration, and discriminate as 
to their truthful application. 

In the record and treatment, then, of every art or 
science, there is a necessity for adopting a language 
of unchangeable meaning, by which its principles 
may be definitely explained and communicated, and 
thus placed beyond the possibility of any perver- 
sion through misapprehension or individual caprice. 

Rush fully realized this necessity in the scientific 
handling of a subject, and acted upon it in under- 
taking his exposition of the speaking voice. Until 
his time this precision of terms had not existed in 
the treatment of elocution ; for the knowledge of 
the vocal attributes being in itself indefinite, the 



Dr. James Rusk, JJ 

descriptive nomenclature could not be otherwise. 
Hence, the loose and figurative employment of 
terms, both in writing upon and in teaching this 
subject. • 

Take the generalistic terms, " fervent expression," 
''modulation," "tone of feeling," etc. In seeking 
to employ them to direct a definite effect, the con- 
sequence too often is that, owing to their inde- 
terminate and figurative character, and their conse- 
quent confusion or looseness of acceptance, a gen- 
eral and unsatisfactory result alone can follow. 
"We seem not to be aware," says Rush, "that 
no describable perceptions are associated with such 
terms until required to illustrate them by some 
definite discriminations of vocal sounds." In this 
connection, he adds that, "upon taking up the 
subject, the words quick, slow, long, short, rise, fall, 
and turn, indefinite as they are, included nearly all 
the discriminative terms of elocution," and so truly 
adds that, "the studious inquirer has long wanted 
a language for the meaning of the voice he has al- 
ways felt." "The fullness of nomenclature in an 
art," says Rush, "is directly proportioned to the 
degree of its improvement, and the accuracy of its 
terms insures the precision of its systematic rules. 
The few and indeterminate designations of the 
modes of the voice in reading, compared with the 
number and accuracy of the terms in music, imply 
the different manner in which each has been culti- 
vated." 

His idea, therefore, in adopting a more accurate 
nomenclature, was to describe the vocal constitu- 



j8 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ents of speech, and the principles of their applica- 
tion, with a precision that might enable instruc- 
tion to be systematic, and as definite in this as in 
many other branches of science. This object he 
accomplished by adopting those terms from the 
kindred science of music that are applicable to sim- 
ilar phenomena in speech, and the uses of which 
have long been fixed with scientific exactness, and 
are, therefore, free from all ambiguity ; but rejecting, 
entirely, such musical terms as suggest, in their appli- 
cation to speech, only a vague analogy to the functions 
they describe in music. Also, by adding terms of 
his own invention to these, to describe such vocal 
phenomena, or their modifications, as could not be 
designated with precision by any already in exist- 
ence ; for, as he very justly remarks, "when un- 
named additions are made to the system and detail 
of an art, terms must be invented for them, and 
even when its known phenomena are exhibited un- 
der varied relationships, the purpose of description 
is less perplexed by the novelty of terms than by 
an attempt to give another application or meaning 
to former names." Such scientific precision in 
treating the subject, certainly does not imply com- 
plication nor unnecessary elaboration, except to 
those who expect to purchase a knowledge of the 
principles of elocution through means and methods 
different from those employed in any other art to 
whose requirements they must conform. 



Chapter VII. 

Rush's System of Notation. 

Now to consider Dr. Rush's use of a visible no- 
tation to indicate the movements of the voice in 
speech. The necessity for a set of graphic sym- 
bols to serve as a guide for the reproduction of 
the intonations of the speaking voice had long been 
felt, since the punctuative points, although serving 
their purpose to render written language clear and 
intelligible, were no indication of the vocal proper- 
ties of syllables, words, phrases, and clauses, as 
employed in spoken language. Walker, in attempt- 
ing to create such a visible notation, borrowed the 
acute, grave, and circumflex accents from the an- 
cients. 

But these borrowed symbols served only, as we 
have seen, to indicate the general direction of a 
few undefined movements of vocality ; and, in the 
words of Rush, were "but vague and meager rep- 
resentations of the rich and measurable variety of 
the voice." Mr. Wright went a step farther than 
Walker, and made use of the musical staff, with 
certain symbols, for the purpose of measuring the 
positive extent of accentual and emphatic slides, 
and gave a number of obscure hints concerning 

(79) 



80 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

the movements of the voice through various degrees 
of pitch ; but he, in common with Walker, failed 
to distinguish the syllabic movements of pitch (the 
slide having been regarded, as we have seen, by 
both these writers as the attribute of whole words 
instead of syllables), and was also unsuccessful in 
his attempt to accomplish a definite notation of 
speech. 

Steele's system of visible notation of speech in- 
tonation was, however, in many respects, very sat- 
isfactory, as were also his symbols marking the 
rhythmical progression of language, both proving 
beyond question the value of the graphic art in its 
relation to speaking sounds. 

Having discovered the measurable degree of in- 
tonation, as applied to the simple and familiar dia- 
tonic scale, it was not a difficult matter for Dr. Rush 
to develop the idea of graphic symbols by adopt- 
ing a form of notation for spoken language, to mark 
these varied degrees of pitch, similar to that so 
successfully employed in music, but with certain 
necessary modifications to adapt it to the peculiar 
characteristics of the former. 

In notating music, a simple dot or circle is placed 
upon each degree of the staff of lines and spaces ; 
but, in order to express in its form the peculiarity 
of the upward and downward character, or concrete 
pitch of the syllabic slide, in contradistinction to 
the level line of pitch in the musical note, — Rush 
employed a symbol to represent it, which, com- 
mencing on one degree of the staff is continued to 
another, either in an upward or a downward direc- 



Rush's System of Notation. 8t 

tion, or in both combined, indicating the wave ; 
these notes of speech* in their successions on the staff, 

marking the melody. 

His notation is thus intended to describe only 
the intonations of the voice, or its progress through 
the concrete and discrete intervals of pitch. The 
attributes of quality and time, he does not attempt 
to express by symbols, leaving their proportion 
and kind to be described by his clear descriptive 
nomenclature. As regards force, however, he fur- 
nishes some symbols of the stressed concrete which 
are of much value as aids to the ear through the 
eye. By means of this simple notation, the student 
has afforded him the tangible instrumentalities by 
which the measurements of the vocal concrete are 
rendered appreciable to the eye, and therefore ca- 
pable of serving as a guide to their exact repro- 
duction by the voice, both singly and in their suc- 
cessions in melody.* 

Although this author's notation by no means 
represents a perfected system, such as we find in 
music, it is complete as far as it goes, and quite 
adequate to the purposes it was designed to serve. 

In many cases the connection of speech symbols 
with the study of speech has presented a twofold 
difficulty, — one, however, greatly exaggerated. In 
the first place, many students of elocution have no 



Illustrations of the notation employed by Dr, Rush do not 
come within the scope of the present volume. In my practical 
work, which follows, it is fully illustrated and described in detail 
in its practical application to the study of the sounds of the 
voice. 



82 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

particular knowledge of music or taste for it as a 
study, and therefore can not see its value as an 
aid to an understanding of the art of expressive 
speech. On the other hand, many, and I am in- 
clined to think the greater number, consider the 
letter of the work only, and thus look upon the 
notation as arbitrarily restricting the movements of 
the voice to the precision of a musical execution, 
thereby confining the reader and speaker to the 
strict observance of an unalterable melodic progres- 
sion of sound, and hence liable to induce a mechan- 
ical style of utterance. 

To the first it may be replied that in order to 
understand the kinship existing between the art of 
speech and that of music, an extended knowledge 
of the latter is not necessary. 

An understanding of its most rudimentary prin- 
ciples, and a general apprehension of its scope as a 
science, is amply sufficient, since its niceties and 
exactitudes of execution are not involved in the 
application of the same principles to speech ; and, 
as regards the latter difficulty mentioned, it should 
be expressly understood that the object of Dr. Rush 
is not to set notations to be arbitrarily followed in 
reading any prescribed matter, but to present a 
system of visible marks, by which the learner, as 
a process of discipline, may be able to note or 
follow the progressive syllabic steps of the voice, 
as it moves through the utterance of a group of 
words or sentences on the speaking scale. Thus 
the student is enabled to repeat the movements, by 
following the indications of the symbols, as often 



Rustis System of Notation. 83 

as he desires, until he is master of the principles iu- 
volved. 

The notation of song is made by a musical com- 
poser, and is to be strictly followed by the singer ; 
therefore, all singers will follow the same intona- 
tions in the execution of the same composition. 
With the reader it is different. The notation, in 
his case, serves its purpose, first, by suggesting 
appropriate modes of expression, as to the feature 
of intonation ; and, secondly, by giving him com- 
mand, through the practice it affords, over the dif- 
ferent vocal movements it indicates. Having, then, 
by means of the latter, brought the various effects 
of pitch and other modifications of sound repre- 
sented in the prescribed notation under the con- 
trol of the mental faculties and the vocal organs, 
he possesses the means wherewith to apply the 
knowledge and skill thus acquired to the creation 
of his own melody, according as his own judgment, 
taste, or fancy shall dictate. Thus, although the 
movements of pitch, indicated by the speech nota- 
tion, are susceptible of almost the same exactitude 
in their execution as those of song ; and although 
it is desirable to observe this precision in elemen- 
tary practice, still, in the final execution of the 
speech melody, it is not to be aimed at, since the 
visible marks, after having served their ends in the 
processes of disciplining and cultivating the voice 
and ear, are suggestive and relative, rather than 
positive and absolute, serving as a general outline 
of direction and proportion. 

The notations of Rush are not calculated to make 



84 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

a reader adopt a method of dealing with language 
by which his own tastes and conceptions are set 
aside or rendered inoperative. The principles which 
the notations illustrate are positive, but the nota- 
tion itself only suggestive of the means of attaining 
the desired end of natural effect in the utterance 
of premeditated language. 

Perception and perseverance will, in time, give 
the student command over all the natural forms of 
vocality. His ear, cultivated to an appreciation of 
sounds it had not observed before, will become his 
only preceptor ; and his tongue, from habit and 
practice, will move in subjection to his will when, 
from the mere observer, he has become the disci- 
ple of nature. 

One of the greatest advantages of this whole 
system of notation and nomenclature, lies in the 
fact that the teacher, by its means, is enabled to 
impart to the mind of the pupil a distinct picture, 
as it were, of the processes employed in producing 
certain effects, thus making him familiar, in the ini- 
tiatory steps of his studies, with those principles 
so necessary to an intelligent progress in the more 
advanced stages of instruction. 

The lack of such an aid, universally accepted, 
has long been a stumbling-block in the way of 
earnest and intelligent teachers. Oftentimes the 
pupil, after having been drilled into something like 
a successful imitation of the teacher's reading of a 
given passage, produces, perhaps on his own part, 
an effect that discovers some vital point of expres- 
sion, natural and appropriate, but which had not 



Ritstis System of Notation. 85 

been either in the teacher's own mind or voice, and 
hence not aimed at in his instructions. "Right!" 
he cries in approbation ; but, in striving to produce 
the same point of effect in the delivery of another 
pupil, he finds himself at a loss for definite means 
by which to direct the latter in its reproduction. 
The successful performer is then called up to illus- 
trate, by a repetition of his first reading. But, 
alas ! the feeling which brought out the latent 
beauty has fled, and with it all ability to repeat 
the same form of expression. The teacher having 
no means to record or define it by a language of 
definite and unchangeable significance, the expres- 
sive effect and the principle it illustrates are lost 
both to himself and his class. On the other hand, 
the well disciplined student of Rush would not 
only be able to note all such expressive utterances 
upon paper or the blackboard, and then explain 
them to his class with the additional aid of well 
understood terms, but would also be able to pre- 
serve them as matters for study and reflection. 

That the system of Mr. Walker, popular as it 
was in England and in this country, for many 
years, did not, according to the author's own ac- 
knowledgment, succeed in making good readers and 
speakers, is largely attributable to the failure of his 
visible notation to indicate the vocal effects it was 
designed to illustrate ; for his symbols, not being 
definite, but only general indications of upward and 
downward slides of no describable extent, were lia- 
ble, in their use, to create other results than those 
desired by the student or intended by the author. 



86 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

In a grammatical point of view, Mr. Walker's 
notations are clear and intelligible, and can still be 
used with the modifications imparted to them, or 
rather the light shed upon them, by a knowledge 
of the measurable degrees of intonation described 
by Dr. Rush, and applied to the management of 
the voice at minor pauses and periods. 

However the fixed habits of study, therefore, 
may incline him to the system of Mr. Walker, the 
intelligent elocutionist or student can not but be- 
come interested in a study of these principles, upon 
learning that, through a knowledge of the character 
or philosophy of the concrete and discrete functions 
of vocality, the method of Walker's inflections will 
become at once more intelligible, and more prac- 
tical. 

Many who have condemned the system of speech 
notations and descriptive nomenclature of Dr. Rush, 
have proceeded upon the assumption that the va- 
riations of syllabic pitch, and other modifications 
of the syllabic utterance, can not be appreciated by 
the common ear, and therefore are not susceptible 
of measurement. Of course, to deny the possibil- 
ity of measuring the speech sounds, and of perceiv- 
ing their other modifications, is logically to preclude 
any possible means of visibly representing or tech- 
nically describing such phenomena. Indeed, we 
have just noted this as the reason that the English 
writers failed to accomplish any thing definite in 
the way of notation and nomenclature — because 
of their indeterminate knowledge of the vocal at- 
tributes they were designed to symbolize. 



Rush's System of Notation. 87 

Objections upon this ground can only be made, 
however, by those who have not tested the meas- 
urable character of speech tones by actual obser- 
vation, experiment, and experience; or, by those 
who have formed their opinion as a foregone con- 
clusion, based upon the established prejudices or 
popular errors concerning the impossibility of ar- 
riving at any definite knowledge of the movements 
of the speaking voice, and who will not, therefore, 
give Rush's treatment of this subject that fair, 
practical investigation which could not fail to lead 
them to a conviction of the truth of his principles. 
An eminent actor and elocutionist, after attempt-" 
ing to read a few passages for me, notated after 
the manner of Dr. Rush with regard to the differ- 
ent movements of syllabic pitch, exclaimed, "Dr. 
Rush must have been a fool to think that any 
one could be aided in the study of reading by 
any such perverted use of the musical staff and its 
note signs!" The secret of the matter being that 
he saw something that was unintelligible or mean 
ingless to him simply because he had not taken 
the trouble to understand it. To realize the 
strength of that prejudice, arising from the lack of 
a true in. ight into this matter, we have but to re- 
flect that reading itself was looked upon, in its in- 
fancy, as a supernatural gift, the illiterate having 
no conception of words independent of sound, not 
being able or willing to comprehend that language 
could be represented to the eye by means of writ- 
ten symbols or letters, — the few who were masters 
of the art being even regarded as magicians. 



88 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

What should we think of the opinion of a per- 
son if, simply because he lacked a knowledge of 
musical notation, he should condemn it as unintel- 
ligible or absurd ; or of the man who, not having 
a natural or cultivated ear for musical sounds and 
their appreciable qualities and measurement, should 
deny that they possessed any such attributes. And 
yet, such is exactly the logical— or rather, illogical — 
attitude in which those persons place themselves 
who deny that speech-sounds are capable of meas- 
urement in pitch and its visible representation, or 
of analysis as to other properties, without having 
brought the powers of their intellect and of their 
sense of hearing to test the matter by experiment. 
I fully realize the fact that it is no easy matter for 
the ear to intelligently follow these vocal move- 
ments, without the most close and careful habits 
of observation and analysis ; for we are so accus- 
tomed to accept the significance of these sounds, 
which we never fail to recognize, that the very 
familiarity of the phenomena renders us unobserv- 
ant of its exact character or producing cause. One 
unconsciously, however, takes the form and meas- 
urement of vocal sounds by this recognition of 
their significance ; and all that is needed is to direct 
the mind to the conscious observation of the same 
phenomena. Rush did not attempt to analyze these 
movements in their rapid flight through speech, but 
by slow and patient observation of individual utter- 
ances ; and it is only through such gradual means 
that the student can hope to obtain a disciplined 
knowledge of their properties which will guide him 



Rush's System of Notation. 89 

to their correct recognition in the varied combina- 
tions of language. Dr. Rush, in commenting upon 
this point, says: 

"The inscrutable character, as it is affirmed, and the fan- 
cied infinity of the vocal movements, together with the rapid 
course and variation of utterance, are considered as insuper- 
able obstacles to a precise description of the detail and sys- 
tem of the speaking voice. We may here ask if there is no 
other opportunity to count the radii of a wheel, but in the 
race, or to number and describe the individuals of a herd, 
except in the promiscuous mingling of their flight? Music, 
with its infinitude of detail, must still have been a mystery, 
could the knowledge of its intervals and of its time have 
been caught up .only from the multiplied combinations and 
rapid execution of the orchestra. The accuracy of mathemat- 
ical calculation, joined with the sober patience of the ear 
over a deliberate practice in its constituents, has not had 
more success in disclosing the system of this beautiful and 
luminous science, than a similar watchfulness over the de- 
liberate movements of speech will afford for designating its 
hitherto unrecorded phenomena." 

Steele says: "Language is an art that we learn (to speak 
in a vulgar phrase) very naturally ; that is, by rote. Many 
people learn music nearly in the same manner, especially 
singing; and both those who talk by rote, and those who 
sing by rote, are often proficient in practice, without knowing 
that those arts are capable of rules and of very subtle analy- 
zation, any more than a child of five years old comprehends 
or can explain how he stands or walks." 

In addition to gradual and deliberate processes 
of study in the beginning, the constant habit of 
watching the movements of the voice in its impulses 
and drifts under entirely natural and unpremeditated 
excitement, as well as its more studied effects in 
the exercise of professional functions, has brought 

P. S. L.-8. 



9<3 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

me the conviction that the most minute vocal 
movements of speech can not only be measured 
and described, but that the truth of this has been 
clearly demonstrated in "The Philosophy of the 
Voice." 

Elocution may, then, be taught with results, if 
not as certain as those of an exact science, at least 
with such approximate results to certainty as are 
necessary for its development as a fine art. To 
use the words of Dr. Rush : 

"It may be remarked, in anticipation of what may be 
shown hereafter, that the art of speech, in three of its im- 
portant modes; namely, time, with its measurable move- 
ments ; intonation, with its measurable intervals ; and force, 
with its measurable degrees, — though not admissable within 
the pale of exact calculation, is yet upon its border, and 
when, through future cultivation, it shall take its destined 
place among the liberal arts, it will be found at least beside 
architecture and music, — those beautiful associations of taste 
with mathematical truth, — if, indeed, from its principles of in- 
tonation being broadly and strictly founded in nature, it may 
not claim to be before them." 



Chapter VIII. 

Rus/is System. — Continued. 

I have spoken thus at length upon this matter 
of Rush's notation and nomenclature, and the end 
the author designed them to serve, as aids to elo- 
cutionary instruction, in view of the fact that so 
many have stumbled upon the mere letter of the 
work, and have thus failed to grasp its true and 
liberal spirit. 

From the discipline of the organs of speech, which 
is a necessary result of working with nature, to- 
gether with the sympathetic effects of discrimination 
and taste, the student of elocution can not but ob- 
tain from a study of this system advantages of the 
highest importance in his art. 

Before concluding these introductory remarks 
upon the subject of Dr. Rush's work, I would have 
it clearly understood that it is not claimed that he 
has demonstrated the art of speech to be capable 
of the same perfection of results, or rather the 
same unvarying precision of effects, that we find 
m music. 

For, as Rush himself has said, "The full devel- 
opment of an art, in all its practical bearings, can 
be effected only by the united labor of many, and 
of their lives." 

(01) 



92 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

So general and so deep-seated was the convic- 
tion, at the time of Dr. Rush's first publication, of 
the impossibility of detecting and recording in de- 
tail the various modifications of the tones of speech, 
owing to their brief and evanescent character, that 
the publication met with the most unfavorable crit- 
icism, or, perhaps, one might more properly say, 
with the opposition of hasty and prejudiced opin- 
ion, for no book, probably, ever received, upon its 
first entrance before the public, so little criticism, 
in its real sense. To quote Dr. Rush's own witty 
resume of the opinions of some of the early critics 
(?) of his work : 

"One says it is a sealed book; another, that it might as 
well have been written in Hebrew; an eminent leader of 
opinion on this side of the water says it is not worth review- 
ing; while, on the other side, one of the very highest rank 
in British periodical criticism, declares, in the frank confes- 
sion of an ineffable superiority, that it quite surpasses his com- 
prehension. One, not contented with his own single incom- 
petence, takes the author into his company by saying that 
he does not understand it himself; while, to a high-placed 
medical proferssor, the work was altogether so unintelligible 
that he recommended one of his friends to read it, as a fine 
example of 'the incoherent language of insanity.'" 

I mention these circumstances of the early recep- 
tion of the book, merely, as Rush himself states, 
after giving the above summary, — "as minor chron- 
icles, collateral to the early history of the philos- 
ophy of speech," and to show that the history of 
Dr. Rush's discoveries forms no exception to those 
of many other benefactors of mankind, whose labors 
have been undertaken in the cause of truth, and 



Rush's System, — Continued. 93 

for truth's sake only. How many facts of science, 
now established without cavil or controversy, and on 
which much of popular knowledge depends, — how 
much of the present scientific information (which 
marks the advancement of the age) would have re- 
mained neglected if the superficial verdict as to its 
value or availability, had been necessary to secure 
its recognition and adoption? When difficulty ap- 
pears in the way of a ready understanding of a 
subject not under popular acceptance, there is al- 
ways a disposition to consider such a matter as 
either visionary or at least not available for the pur- 
pose of general utility. With regard to the " Philos- 
ophy of the Voice," it is, and, from the nature of 
the subject, necessarily must be, a work which re- 
quires not only intellect, but patient application 
and observation, to comprehend its details ; and, 
where these have been given, it has always resulted 
in acknowledgments of its superior value. It is 
now more than fifty years since the first publica- 
tion of the work, and it is with pleasure I testify 
to the liberal and progressive spirit of the time 
by stating the fact that a very different opinion 
now prevails with regard to its merits as a contri- 
bution to the scientific study of spoken language. 
The French have sufficiently considered and appre- 
ciated the work to call forth an indorsement of its 
merits, — the record of the French Academy of Sei 
ences bearing honorable witness to the author's 
exposition of the vocal organs, and their peculiar 
functions in the production of those elevations and 
depressions of the voice, technically known as pitch. 



94 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

Many of the principles of Dr. Rush's system 
have met with the corroborations of later science, 
both from the stand-point of anatomy and acoustics, 
the discoveries in both these branches of science 
made by Helmholtz, Lunn, and others simply serv- 
ing to confirm the correctness of Dr. Rush's vocal 
methods in the production of sounds, and the re- 
sults in quality or kind. 

The theory for a special vocal culture for speech 
has been confirmed by Weiss, the German writer 
on the voice in song and speech, and by later 
writers on the same subject, who insist, as the 
former expresses it, upon the necessity of '* con- 
scious technical effort," in the artistic use of the 
voice in speech, as in song. 

Dr. Rush's philosophy of the relationships be- 
tween certain mental causes and peculiar vocal ef- 
fects, as exhibited in the varieties of intonation, 
qualities of voice, etc., has been confirmed by no 
less a modern scientific light than Herbert Spencer, 
who explains the correspondences between mental 
and vocal phenomena on the ground of the direct 
relation existing between mental and muscular ex- 
citement. Still, while the principles of "The Phi- 
losophy," are thus confirmed, both directly and 
indirectly, no writer of any nationality has given 
us so copious and complete an analysis of the vo- 
cal functions in their relations to the expression 
of speech. 

In England, several popular and valuable books 
on delivery bear unmistakable evidences of the fact 
that their educators have not only read the ' ' Phi- 



Rush's System. — Continued. 95 

losophy of the Voice," but have adopted many of 
its principles ; and a recent elocutionary work, of 
high authority with the English public, in recom- 
mending the works of most value on the subject 
of elocution, says : 

"I would name particularly, in addition to the authors to 
whom I have already referred, the great American work, 
written on the voice, by the celebrated physician Dr. Rush. 
It is well worthy perusal by those who wish to study the 
subject in all its minuteness of detail." 

In our own country, this work, since the time 
of its publication, has furnished material for the 
greater part of the elocutionary books and systems 
subsequently issued ; and yet, with but a few nota- 
ble exceptions, the greater number of those who 
have undertaken to handle the principles embodied 
in the original work, have either illiberally inter- 
preted, or imperfectly understood and reproduced, 
them in their various manuals of elocution. Many 
have selected only the elements of force and abrupt- 
ness, giving them an undue prominence, to the 
neglect of other points of as essential value, pro- 
ducing "barkers," as some of the ancient orators 
have termed it, instead of discriminating and ele- 
gant, as well as forcible, readers and speakers. 

Others have re-named the various original points, 
and thus, by unnecessary diversity of nomenclature 
for one and the same idea, have created confu- 
sion, resulting in an obscuring of the ideas them 
selves. 

Again, not a few have chosen to interpret Dr. 
Rush according to their own conceptions of the 



96 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

kind and value of his principles, and their practical 
relations to elocution, rather than in accordance 
with the author's true spirit and intent. Such have 
selected only those points of his system as came 
within reach of easy and immediate application to 
their own purposes, ignoring or rejecting what to 
them, as superficial students or seekers after knowl- 
edge through easy ways, appeared to be hard to 
understand, and, therefore, too difficult for the de- 
mands of teaching. Valuable features of the sys- 
tem, thus detached from the modifying influences 
of the remaining parts of a complete whole, have 
been, in many instances, misinterpreted in their 
application or exaggerated in their functions. I 
have in my mind, in this connection, one who, for 
many years, occupied a prominent position in the 
public eye as lecturer and writer on elocution. 
While using the Rush system in many of its more 
mechanical details, he evidently avoided any exposi- 
tion of its true merits with regard to the melody 
of speech, or to the true meaning of the philoso- 
phy of the formulas by which the vocal organs 
should be disciplined in order to bring the voice 
under the speaker's control, without physical injur}-, 
and yet to accomplish the greatest amount of vocal 
effort and endurance. The specialty he developed 
and made the "feature" of his teaching, was the 
special and voluntary control of the abdominal mus- 
cles and the diaphragm. This I give but as an il- 
lustration of the tendency amongst those handling 
the subject of elocution, either as writers or teach- 
ers, to give prominence to some peculiar "method," 



Rusk's System.— Continued. 97 

announcing it as the "only open sesame" to the 

treasures of vocal culture and the supposed myster- 
ies of natural speech. 

I do not make these statements with any desire 
to detract from whatever good work has been done 
in the cause of elocution ; but I desire to state 
facts exactly as I know them to be with regard to 
the matter in question, in order to show how, from 
a desultory and imperfect or unfair manner of deal- 
ing with a work of minute analysis and profound 
research, its broad and comprehensive character has 
not been thoroughly understood, nor its large spirit, 
as the system of a universal nature, thoroughly 
grasped, by the public. Such facts clearly explain 
why there has been, thus far, no uniform elocution- 
ary development from a source which bears wit J tin it- 
self all the essential elements for the accomplishment of 
that result, and why there is, as yet, ?io established 
artistic standard of excellence and taste in elocutionary 
study and execution, which would be the natural out- 
come of such development. 



p. 5. 1 



Chapter IX. 

Reception of the Rush System. 

Dr. Rush was not an elocutionist, but I feel as- 
sured that, had the pressure of professional duties 
permitted or circumstances compelled him to be- 
come a practical teacher of his system of principles, 
and to have established an institute for the expo- 
sition of his vocal theories, under his own direction, 
his philosophy would be to-day — what of right it 
ought to be — the governing power in the study of 
spoken language among all English speaking peo- 
ple, and of all who use the audible forms of speech 
for public address. 

Dr. Rush always regretted the absence of that 
unanimity among teachers of elocution, with regard 
to the vital principles of their art, which prevented 
their formulating one general plan of instruction, 
after the custom prescribed for teaching other 
branches of education. When the book first ap- 
peared, the doctor was at particular pains to interest 
teachers of elocution in its reading and study. He 
took every fitting opportunity of explaining any 
point of doubtful meaning to which his attention 
was called. He was willing and ready to compare 
notes with those who might entertain preferences 

( 9 8) 



Reception of the Rush System. 99 

for their own theories or practices. He never ob- 
jected to a friendly presentation of the merits of 
the old systems, and freely entertained whatever 
of objection might be raised against his own by 
those who showed a proper spirit of discussion. 
To controversies, however, he objected strongly, 
thinking they generally ended in doing harm, rather 
than in promoting the good of the subject. 

The Doctor's ideas concerning the spirit and letter 
of teaching were entirely novel and original, and 
not at all suited to the wants of public schools, 
being better calculated to teach students and teach- 
ers the principles which should underlie the forms of 
instruction they were to create and use. Until one 
general plan could be determined on, made up of the 
best points of the best experiences, to be blended 
into one great whole for the guidance of all, "The 
Philosophy of the Voice" was to be an exclusive 
text-book, and in the hands only of the tutors. 
The blackboards and charts, with the teachers' vo- 
cal exemplifications, were to be the means of in- 
struction until the elementary studies should be 
completed. 

In the case of teaching in a more advanced sense, 
Dr. Rush was of the opinion that teachers should 
work out the proper results with their pupils, in 
small classes or singly, by means of practical ex- 
positions of the governing principles, illustrated in 
detail by special examples, not requiring the pupil 
to commit rules to memory, but to study their 
meaning and try to apply the principles to senten- 
ces or lines dictated by the teacher. 



ioo A Plea for Spoken Language. 

Though utterly reckless of ignorant and preten- 
tious opposition, Dr. Rush was yet generously 
frank in his desire to receive a sympathetic ac- 
knowledgment of the importance of his work, and 
the assistance of all those who could bring an in- 
telligence, earnestness, and enthusiasm adequate to 
the necessities of the case. Most prominent amongst 
the few who succeeded in contributing such aid to 
the cause was Dr. Jonathan Barber, a member of 
the London Royal College of Surgeons. He had 
been a lecturer on the subject of elocution, in con- 
formity with the laws of rhythmus as set forth in 
the work of Sir Joshua Steele, and of physiology, 
before the publication of ■ ' The Philosophy of the 
Voice." Upon reading this work, he was so struck 
with the truth of its principles that he gave the 
subject a special study, and was the first to ac- 
knowledge its superiority, both theoretically and 
practically, over all other works on the subject of 
the voice in its relation to speech. 

He began to teach the new system, and made 
so favorable an impression upon the educators of 
the period that he was afforded the opportunity to 
introduce his elocutionary training into some of the 
Eastern colleges. 

Yale College was early favorable to the system, 
but the University of Cambridge, by appointing 
Dr. Barber to its department of elocution, was the 
first chartered institution of science in this country 
that gave an influential and responsible approbation 
of the work. 

One of the features of the system of artistic study 



Reception of the Rush System. 101 

advocated by Dr. Rush, and enforced by Dr. Bar- 
ber in his teaching, is a preparatory training, for 
the purposes of disciplining both voice and ear, on 
the vocal elements of language, in connection with 
the alphabetic elements and their syllabic combina- 
tions. 

This study of vocal elements, however in the 
exercises preparatory to more advanced studies in 
declamation, was not congenial to young men who 
thought they had passed beyond the alphabetic 
stage of their language, and, by its seemingly un- 
necessary enforcement, created opposition, which 
finally led to ridicule. Dr. Barber, in consequence, 
resigned his position, and, as far as colleges were 
concerned, the matter fell into neglect. It was, 
however, continued in some quarters, and with more 
or less success. 

The following letter from America's popular ora- 
tor, Wendell Phillips, is in itself sufficient comment 
upon the efficacy and value of Barber's treatment 
of the Rush principles, and their appreciation by 
those who, in the simplicity of true greatness, in- 
clined their ear to what they recognized as the 
teachings of nature : 

"Boston, Mass., March 23, 1878. 
"Mr. James E. Murdoch: 

"My Dear Sir, — You ask me to tell you something of my 
acquaintance with Dr. Barber, the elocutionist. I had the 
good fortune to be his pupil, at Harvard College, in a class 
which fully appreciated the value of his lessons and system. 
I think I may say we were his favorite class. W. H. Sim- 
mons, afterwards teacher of elocution, etc., at Harvard Col- 



102 A Plea for Spoken Langtiage. 

lege, enthusiastically devoted to training his rare powers,* 
Motley, who, had not literature drawn from public speech, 
would have been one of the most eloquent and finished of 
American speakers, were of our class, and, with a dozen 
others, were deeply interested in Dr. Barber's system. It is 
little to say that we all thought it the best ever offered to 
any student. Based on Rush, the Doctor's system was at 
once philosophically sound and eminently practical. I am 
sure he taught me all I was ever taught, except by a school- 
master [Withington], whom 1 lost at ten years old. What- 
ever I have ever acquired in the art of improving and man- 
aging my voice I owe to Dr. Barber's system, suggestions, 
and lessons. No volume or treatise on the voice, except those 
of Rush and Barber, has ever been of any practical value to 
me. The Doctor's reliance on principle, and comparative 
disuse of technical rules, seem to me a great advantage over 
all the other systems with which I am acquainted. His 
teachings tended to make good readers and speakers, not 
readers or speakers modeled on Barber. It brought out each 
pupil's peculiar character of utterance and expression, without 
attempting or tending to cast him in any mold. After 
leaving Barber a pupil had no mannerism to rid himself of 
before he got full possession of his own power. Of how few 
teachers can this be said. 

"It is useless to waste words on any man ignorant of the 
vast power of agreeable and eloquent speech in a republic. 
You can in no way contribute more to its cultivation than by 
doing justice to Rush and Barber, and calling attention to their 
system. For the sake of the public, as well as your own, I 
wish you the largest success in your effort. 
"Very cordially yours, 

"Wendell Phillips." 



* Mr. W. H. Simmons, the elocutionist, was the favorite S/iakc- 
sperean reader of Boston. He showed decided talent for the stage, 
and made a successful appearance in several first-class characters : 
but, being unwilling to submit to the drudgery of stock acting as 
preparatory to a permanent success, he abandoned the profession. 

He was highly educated, and a most agreeable person in soci- 
ety. The most intellectual people of Boston were his auditors, 



Reception of the Rush System. 103 

The quoted letter from Mr. Phillips was written 
in reply to a request I had made of him for in- 
formation concerning the peculiar treatment Dr. 
Barber had received from the students, and which 
had compelled him, from a sense of self-respect, to 
abruptly resign his position as professor of elocu- 
tion at Harvard College. Mr. Phillips told me that 
his class was the only one which did not show a 
disposition to ridicule the Doctor's mode of con- 
ducting his exercises in speaking and gesture. It 
would have been well for the cause of what De- 
mosthenes considered the all in all of oratory, — its 
"action," — had the faculty and the students of 
Harvard been better disposed towards a study, the 
practice of which would have given the country a 
few more such orators as Wendell Phillips. 

The following just tribute to the worth of Dr. 
Rush's work, speaks for itself. 

Mr. Wm. Russell, that eminent educator who 
did so much to elevate the standard of education 
in New England, says, in speaking of Rush's "Phi- 
losophy " : 

"Had its author lived in those times when eloquence was 
cherished as an attainment almost divine, and they who con- 
tributed to facilitate its acquisition were rewarded as distin- 
guished benefactors of mankind, neither statue nor votive 
wreath would have been wanting to his honor." 

The following, expressing the same appreciation, 
is from Dr. Jonathan Barber to James Rush, M.D.: 



with whom lie was a general favorite. Mr. James T. fields spoke 
of him as a model reader. He was before the time of Fanny 
Kemble or Charles Dickens. 



104 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

"Dear Sir, — The treatise which you published in 1827, 
entitled "The Philosophy of the Human Voice," was the first 
work that ever presented a true and comprehensive record 
of the vocal functions. Physiology is a science, the details 
of which are discoverable only by observation and experi- 
ment. 

"The history of the functions of the voice is a legitimate 
department of that science, and you have investigated it in 
the only true method. Your work is strictly inductive; its 
philosophical principle is, therefore, correct. It combines, at 
the same time, such fullness of detail, with such an orderly 
classification of the vocal functions, as to entitle your views 
of the subject, on the ground both of the comprehensiveness 
of the particulars and the felicity of the arrangement, to the 
denomination of a science. Much less originality, depth, and 
accuracy of investigation, devoted to some art which man- 
kind in general have been taught to consider profitable, 
would have brought you a more immediate recompense of 
fame, — not, however, perhaps, a large portion of ultimate glory. 
As to the practical tendency of your treatise, I would observe 
that it satisfied my curiosity as to the elements of the art 
which I teach, and enlarged to so great an extent my re- 
sources as a teacher, that the advantages I am constantly 
deriving from it of themselves prompt me to a full and grate- 
ful acknowledgment of its merits. 

"Your sincere friend and servant, 

"Jonathan Barber. 

"Cambridge, October, 1831." 

Amongst the names of others besides Dr. Barber, 
who wrote justly and intelligently upon the Rush 
system, may be mentioned those of Prof. Wm. 
Russell, Samuel R. Gummere, Weaver, and a few- 
others. Their works, however, except in the case 
of the first mentioned author, are now neglected and 
some of them out of print. 



Chapter X. 

The Author s Early Experience. 

I think it will not be considered an obtrusion 
of my personal history upon the reader if I here 
give a passing glance at my early experience with 
regard to elocutionary study, in order to show how 
the necessities of my profession led me from the 
imperfect systems of the old school to the study 
and adoption of the system of Dr. Rush. 

My early choice of the stage as a profession led 
me to seek the aid of Prof. Lemuel G. White, a 
well-known elocutionist of Philadelphia, whose in- 
structions, based upon the routines of the old 
school, were of great benefit to me in the amateur 
part of my career. After going on the stage, the 
colloquial use of the voice, in the lighter parts of 
theatrical representation, was in itself a kind of 
elocutionary training. But I found, upon attempt- 
ing the heavier parts of tragedy, that the powers 
of my voice did not enable me to realize my ideal 
of the effects I desired to produce, and that I had 
yet much to accomplish in the way of vocal disci- 
pline, my previous studies having been rather a 
training in articulation and emphasis (in the ordi- 
nary sense of force) than a development of the 

(105) 



1 06 A Plea for Spoken Langtiage. 

qualities of the voice, or a study of the expressive 
elements of spoken language. 

Although I may safely affirm that the general 
opinion of the dramatic profession, in our own 
country and Great Britain, is not favorable to spe- 
cial elocutionary training for dramatic purpose, 
the late Mr. Forrest (who had been a reader of 
Dr. Rush, if not a strict follower of his principles), 
in giving me, a mere tyro, some friendly advice, 
observed, ' ' While you are paying so much atten- 
tion to distinctness of utterance and to the inflec- 
tions of your voice you neglect the modulation of 
your tones, in consequence of which you tire by 
uniformity. I should advise you to read Dr. Rush's 
'Philosophy of the Voice.'" I was somewhat sur- 
prised to receive such a hint from the great trage- 
dian. It however caused to me to recollect that 
while studying with Professor White he had taken 
me to see Dr. James Rush, the author of the Phi- 
losophy, etc. I remembered, too, that the very 
instructive conversation I heard on that occasion 
had impressed me with the idea that the Professor 
and the Doctor did not agree on the subject of 
voice cultivation. At the time I speak of I was 
playing, at the Arch Street Theater, Philadelphia, 
subordinate parts, at a mere bread-earning salary. 
I had been but recently married, and my entire 
time was occupied in the laborious work of mem- 
orizing the words of the characters allotted me — 
sometimes four or five during the same week — the 
star system, then in vogue, making the stock 
actor's life a mere drudgery. 



The Author \j Early Experience. 107 

In consequence of such a constant study of 
"words, words, words," it may be seen that I had 
no fitting time to devote to the reading of such an 
elaborate work as "The Philosophy of the Voice." 

The subject therefore passed out of my mind, 
and I went on acting, it may be said, from mere 
"instinct." I mention this to show that such stud- 
ies should be accomplished "in the apprentice days 
of youth, while the faculties are quick and time 
accordant." 

In spite of adverse influences, however, I still 
kept an open ear to the vocalities of my profession. 
Upon a chance occasion I received, in the course 
of a discussion on the subject of expression in 
speech, a most useful lesson from a vetern actor, 
Mr. Dwyer, an accomplished comedian of the old 
school, whose voice had been trained by long 
practice upon the stage, and under the influence 
of such high exemplars as Mrs. Siddons, John and 
Charles Kemble, and Charles Young. One thing that 
deeply impressed itself upon my mind, and gave me 
a new idea of the expressive possibilities of read- 
ing, was his recitation of Byron's Waterloo. The 
heroic sentiment and the pathos of the subject 
depicted in the tones of voice were as sensibly 
impressed on my mind as if I had been an actual 
observer of the scene described by the poet. I 
then said to myself. "Here are certain movements 
of voice and expressive effects in utterance which 
I can not command." His execution had nothing 
of what might be called the hard hammering of 
emphasis when expressed only in the percussion of 



io8 A Plea for Spokeii Language. 

force, or puncturing ictus of merely accentual stress. 
Nor had it the jingling effect so apt to be received 
from the system in which expression is regulated 
by the grammatical structure of the sentence. 

It was this circumstance that led me to reflect 
upon the necessity of some means by which such 
vocal effects. might be intelligently reproduced, for 
I found that my merely imitative efforts fell very 
far short of the end desired, my voice degenerating 
into what is called a stage tone, or executing, from 
a sense of modulative necessity, certain undulating 
movements very unpleasant to the ear. . This finally 
determined me to reconsider my style and meth- 
ods, and to take up Rush instead of Walker as 
my guide. 

It was afterwards (in changed circumstances) my 
good fortune to become intimately acquainted with 
Dr. Rush, and to receive from him, rather in the 
capacity of friend than of professional teacher, a 
practical exposition of the underlying principles of 
his "Philosophy of the Voice." Whenever I called 
upon the Doctor he would draw my attention to 
certain points regarding the production of sound, 
by means of certain muscular movements peculiar 
to the larynx and the vocal chords. The familiar 
examples he gave, illustrative of important princi- 
ples, were a revelation to me; and afterwards be- 
came of the most inestimable value, in enabling 
me to gain control over syllabic utterance in its 
relation to quality and ^quantity, — the two great 
essentials of a perfected elocution. In my effort to 
reproduce, in his presence, the vocal points he ex- 



The Author's Early Experience. 

ecuted, he required me to repeat only a line or 
two of some appropriate- dramatic language. lie- 
would then comment upon the manner in which 
I struck or sustained the tone of my syllables, 
singly or in groups; after which lie would execute 
like movements in imitation of some popular speaker, 
or after the style of Mrs. Siddons, whose elocution 
he considered as a model of artistic speech. 

By following his mode of organic action in the 
production of vocal effects, I was enabled to pro- 
duce the desired sounds and to vary them at pleas- 
ure. In this connection I would state that Mr. 
White's method of teaching was directly opposite 
to the manner in which Dr. Rush conveyed the 
information he gave. The former arbitrarily dic- 
tated the accent and emphasis, pitch and force, of 
every sentence to be read or recited. There was 
no analysis of the elementary principles of the pro- 
ducing causes. They were, so to speak, treated in 
the lump, by illustration in the teacher's mode of 
reading or reciting some extract, the pupil imitat- 
ing, as closely as possible the effects exhibited to 
him, having previously committed to memory cer- 
tain rules concerning inflection and pauses, which 
he applied after the manner prescribed as he could 
remember. 

The insight gained into the subject of Dr. Rush's 
system of principles, through his own direction, 
was so much benefit to me, in connection with my 
profession, that I entered upon a thorough study 
of the entire work in order that I might test the 
practical value of its principles to their full extent. 



1 1 o A Plea for Spokeii Language. 

In the course of events circumstances induced 
me to exchange the profession of the actor for that 
of the elocutionist, and, in 1840, after special prep- 
aration for the purpose of lecturing on the Rush 
system and teaching its details, I opened, in con- 
nection with Prof. Win. Russell, a school of elocu- 
tion in Boston. Here it was that, during three 
years of incessant labor, I not only fully developed 
the powers of my voice, and thus assured myself 
of a vastly increased ability to deal with the most 
difficult elements of dramatic expression, but also 
tested beyond question the superiority of this vocal 
system for the purpose of thorough, effective, and 
intelligent instruction in the art of truly artistic and 
expressive reading and speaking. 

Although results in the matter of training pupils 
were all that I could have desired, and many emi- 
nent men (amongst whom were Horace Mann, Dr. 
Humphrey Storer, John A. Andrew and others, 
some literary and some medical) gave their influ- 
ence and generous sympathy to the undertaking, 
other circumstances did not justify a continuation 
of the work.* 

The main cause of the failure of the enterprise 
was an announcement made in the high schools, to 



* In connection with the institute for the culture of the voice. I 
established and conducted a gymnasium for physical training \ 
erally, but with special reference to the development of the mu- 
cles of the arms, back, and chest, so closely related to the proper 
culture of the more delicate organs of the voice. The building 
occupied was large and well adapted to the purposes of an insti- 
tute of vocal and physical culture. The appliances were ex- 
tensive and costly, and the staff of assistants numerous and effi- 
cient. 



The Authors Early Experience. i 1 1 

this effect, as well as I can remember: "The boys 
who take lessons at Murdoch and Russell 's Insti- 
tute will not be permitted to contend for prizes in 
declamation." The reasons given being as follows: 
"Other bows, who are debarred from such advan- 
tages, or it may be can not devote time to train- 
ing, outside of the elocutionary teaching of the 
schools, are thereby placed at a disadvantage in 
competing- for the honors of delivery." 

This order was brought to our attention by the 
pupils dropping off, and the reference made to it 
by parents as the reason for withdrawing their 
children from the institute. I was, in consequence 
of such an unexpected "set-back," impelled to re- 
tire from the field of elocution and renew my rela- 
tions with the stage. 

In addition to my former list of comedy charac- 
ters, I appeared for the first time in parts of 
Shakesperean tragedy, such as Othello, Hamlet, 
and Macbeth, and whatever degree of public ap- 
probation I was fortunate enough to secure then 
and since, either upon the stage or platform, I be- 
lieve to have been founded upon the results of the 
vocal training I had passed through in accordance 
with those modes of voice cultivation consonant 
with the laws of physiology and vocal expression 
laid down by Dr. Rush. I think I may venture, 
therefore, without either egotism or vanity, to say 
that if the results of such systematic elocutionary 
training, as expressed in my own case, may be 
adduced as an argument for the same, it may not 
be inappropriately instanced for that purpose. Al- 



112 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

though engaged in the active duties of the dramatic 
profession at certain intervals during a period of 
thirty-five or forty years, I have always found time 
to devote to my first love — elocution ; and I am 
convinced beyond a doubt that the only hope of 
a thorough and comprehensive method of instruc- 
tion in vocal culture, and the expressive and cor- 
rect use of language for the purposes of art, 
depends upon a just, intelligent, and practical devel- 
opment of the principles contained in "The Philos- 
ophy of the Voice." I regard it, therefore, as the 
only system of principles universally capable of 
meeting a great public want, and of insuring the 
future of elocutionary advancement ; for with the 
equivalents of a fair trial, reasonable time, and pa- 
tient application, to every one possessing ordinary 
intelligence, imagination, and feeling, it supplies 
the means by which pleasing and forcible effects 
in reading and speaking may be attained — effects 
which, though produced by the aid of art, exhibit 
all the beauties, forces, and graces of nature. 

The following will show how even a hasty, and 
consequently an imperfect study of the system may 
contribute to an improvement in the manner of 
delivery, where the teacher has proper principles 
to impart and the student intelligent perceptions 
and application to practice them : 

About 1 84 1, Mr. George S. Hillard was to deliver 
the Phi Beta Kappa oration at the college celebra- 
tion at Cambridge. About two weeks previous to 
the occasion he called at my rooms in Boston 
with a view to "get up his vocal forces," as 



The Author's Early Experience. 113 

he said, and gain a few practical points in deliv- 
ery. 

Never having paid any attention to such matters 
when a student, and, being somewhat depressed 
in his physical condition from a recent illness, he 
was fearful of a failure in his oratorical effort. I 
suggested to him a course of vocal gymnastics, 
such as his case required, and the shortness of the 
time for preparation allowed. 

On his first appointment he brought his manu- 
script with him, with the idea of making it the 
subject-matter for the vocal drill ; and was much 
surprised when I told him that it would be better 
to confine the mode of instruction and practice 
to elementary exercises in syllabic intonation and 
stress — together with quality and force, varying 
in kind and degree. Such a process, I assured 
him, after a proper understanding of the principles 
involved, and a reasonable amount of daily prac- 
tice (the better if in the open air), would enable 
him, with perfect ease, to give effective audible 
expression to his own language without subjecting 
it to the dictation of another conception. Mr. 
Hillard accepted the proposition, and carried out 
the details in a spirit of earnest study, visiting a 
convenient point at the sea-side for occasional 
"readings," with proper application of the princi- 
ples explained in the lessons received under my 
direction. The oration was a marked success, and 
a surprise to his auditors, on the score of deliver)-, 
Mr. Hillard's previous manner never having exhib- 
ited any particular points of emotional expression, 

P. S. L.-io. 



H4 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

although noted for elegance and refinement, with 
all the graces of rhetorical diction. The frequent 
applause which greeted the orator bore witness to 
the newly-acquired power of the disciplined speaker. 
At the close of the exercises Mr. Hillard remarked 
that, instead of being fatigued, as he had so often 
been on previous occasions, he felt so much exhil- 
arated by his effort that he believed he could re- 
peat the oration then and there with more ease 
and comfort to himself than he had just realized 
in its first presentation. 

Mr. Charles Sumner was, at that time, Mr. Hil- 
lard's law partner. Calling at their rooms the 
morning after the delivery of the oration, Mr. 
Sumner said to me, "Why, Mr. Murdoch, you 
have gained honors from George's performance 
yesterday, — for we all tell him that the dclivny 
was yours, — though the matter was his own." I 
responded by saying that this was not doing jus- 
tice to Mr. Hillard, — inasmuch as I had never 
read a word of the composition, and never heard 
it until it fell from the lips of the orator of the 
day. Mr. Sumner was greatly surprised when I 
told him that the instruction I had given Mr. Hil- 
lard had been confined to technical elemental'}' ex- 
ercises, irrespective of any consecutive composition, 
and especially of that which had won such golden 
opinions from the scholarly audience before which 
it was delivered. 

Mr. Sumner frankly confessed that, when he 
heard the author had taken elocutionary lessons 
from me, he had supposed, judging from the meth- 



llic Author's Early Experience. 115 

ods pursued in his college days, that his inflec- 
tions, emphasis, and other expressive effects, had 
of course been a matter of dictation on my part. 



Chapter XL 

Reasons for the Neglect of Elocution. 

Having already briefly spoken of the position 
elocution occupies to-day as a branch of general 
education, and of the limited amount of didactic 
matter contained in the popular elocutionary text- 
books, I shall now point out the reasons for the 
existing state of affairs in this regard. 

As the fact became apparent that the old system 
of teaching elocution did not develop the latent 
powers of the young speaker, so as to enable him 
to overcome that artificiality in vocal effect which 
was owing to the imperfections of the inflective 
system, teachers became anxious to find a remedy 
for the existing evil. 

But the only system of elocution which could 
meet the requirements of instruction (that founded 
on the Rush philosophy), was rendered unavailable 
with the mass of teachers from the lack of both 
time and facilities on their part for acquiring a 
working knowledge of its principles ; therefore the 
Walker principles retained their supremacy. 

Again, the introduction into the schools of many 

new branches of study, much more satisfactory in 

their results, proved so exhaustive of the time of 

both teacher and scholar that elocution gradually 
(116) 



Reasons for ike Neglect of Elocution. 1 17 

lost whatever footing it had as a regular branch 
of disciplined instruction. The easiest and most 
available methods for immediate results, were there- 
fore accepted for imparting such an amount of 
elocutionary training as would enable the aspir- 
ing scholar to make an effective appearance upon 
the platform, but leaving him to depend, for the 
most part, upon the promptings of the moment 
through the uncertain impulses of his feelings or 
imagination. 

In such a condition of affairs, the teacher could 
do little else than employ the imitative method of in- 
struction, by which the pupil is taught to read sim- 
ply according to the dictation of his exemplars — the 
learner having no time to ask the "reason why," 
nor the instructor any time "to render a reason." 

Suffice it to say that the popular text-book of 
the schools at the present time is composed chiefly 
of selections for reading, while the amount of prac- 
tical direction for their study and execution bears 
very much the same proportion to the selections 
themselves as the mouse did to the mountain in 
ifLsop's fable, and the result for good to the learner 
is in about the same proportion. In many cases, 
indeed, especially in class instruction, what didactic 
matter there is, is allowed to repose undisturbed, 
while the student becomes either a good or a bad 
reader through the accidents of a good or a bad 
model, and great or small natural aptitude on his 
own part; or of superior ability on the part of his 
teacher in the way of individual or original modes 
and methods of illustration and instruction. 



1 1 8 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

While, in justice to a subject demanding the most 
impartial consideration, I state facts as I know them 
to exist, yet respect for teachers and their voca- 
tion induces me to say that my object in such 
statements is by no means to disparage the ability 
of the former, but to call attention to the fact that 
educationally elocution occupies a subordinate po- 
sition, and that where imperfections or faults exist 
with instructors, they are, in the main, more those 
of omission than of commission. 

It is a well-known fact that in our colleges, and 
those of Great Britain, with but a very few excep- 
tions, the instruction in elocution is given, not by 
a professor fitted by especial ability and training— 
as in other branches of study — to deal with the 
subject, but by a tutor, selected usually from among 
the most advanced students in rhetoric ; elocution 
being thus merged in a subordinate way into the 
chair of rhetoric. The consequence is that while 
the latter is taught with ability and effect, the for- 
mer is merely looked over, or, in its broadest sense, 
overlooked. 

Rhetoric, in its present acceptation, is the study 
of words or language as the symbols of ideas, and 
is a mental process only. Elocution is the study 
of those written symbols as the medium of the vo- 
cal expression of the thoughts or emotions which 
the symbols signify or represent. 

While a knowledge of the written forms of lan- 
guage and their governing laws is essential to a 
perfect elocution, still a mastery of rhetoric docs 
not by any means involve a knowledge of the vital 



Reasons for the Neglect of Elocution, 1 19 

principles of elocution, as embodied in vocal ex- 
pression, any more than the ability of the artist 
to outline exquisite forms on canvas, includes the 
power also to infuse into them the glowing colors 
of rounded life. Indeed, this exemplifies the rela- 
tion elocution bears to the study of the written 
forms of language. One supplies the form, — per- 
fect, but dumb and lifeless ; the other breathes into 
this form the soul and throb of life itself. 

Sheridan gives some valuable suggestions with 
regard to the relation existing between the two, in 
substance as follows : 

"To those who have not given any especial reflection to 
the subject it is at first difficult to realize that there is no 
natural affinity between written and spoken language, but 
only that connection which custom- has established. They 
rre communicated to the mind through the medium of dif- 
ferent senses: one through the eye, by means of arbitrary 
characters; the other through the ear, by means of articu- 
late sounds and natural tones. But these two kinds of lan- 
guage are associated in the mind so early in life that it is 
difficult ever after not to suppose that there is some natural 
relationship existing between them. And yet it is always 
well to bear in mind that the connection of the two in our 
mind is only that arising from an habitual association of 
ideas. This is obviously shown in the case of men horn 
blind or deaf. The former may be masters of spoken lan- 
guage, and the latter of written, though neither can form any 
conception of the communication of ideas through the sense 
they respectively, lack; and we have already alluded to the 
tact that the illiterate person possessed no other idea of lan- 
guage than that received through the ear. In such cases, 
also, we generally observe that the person uses a variety of 
tones in speaking, according to the sense or the emotions 
expressed In the words; while a deaf man, when taught to 



1 20 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

speak, always delivers his language with one unvarying mo- 
notony of vocal effect. We are very apt to find also, that 
the reading man, in proportion as he gives attention chiefly 
to the written or to the oral forms of language, either ap- 
proaches nearer in his delivery to the monotony of the deaf 
man, or to the variety of the illiterate. Thus it is so often 
the case that writers or men who devote themselves almost 
exclusively to letters are remarkable for their indifferent and 
ineffective delivery."* 



* Dryden, though one of the first harmonizers of our language, 
was so indifferent a reader that when he brought his play of 
Amphitryon to the stage, Cibber, who heard him give it the first 
reading, says: "Though he delivered the plain sense of every 
period, yet the whole was in so cold, so flat, and unaffecting a 
manner, that I am afraid of not being believed if I should ex- 
press it." 

Southern says of Congreve, "that when he brought a comedy 
of his to the players (Dr. Johnson believed it to be the Old 
Bachelor) he read it so wretchedly ill that they were on the 
point of rejecting it, till one of them good-naturedly took it out 
of his hands and read it, when they were so fully persuaded of 
its excellence that for half a year before it was acted he had the 
privilege of the house." 

On the first reading by Addison of his Cato in the greenroom 
he succeeded so ill that he would not attempt it a second time. 
He therefore consigned that task to Cibber, who acquitted him- 
self so much better than the author that the latter requested he 
would perform the part of Cato. But Cibber knew his own tal- 
ents too well for this, and he yielded the part very judiciously to 
Booth. 

Isaac Bickerstaff recited in a voice so thick and a manner seem- 
ingly embarrassed as rendered him not only incapable of giving 
variety to his tones, but at times was scarcely intelligible. In 
reading his comedy of 'Tis Well It's No Worse (since cut down 
to the farce of The Panel) to a small circle of friends, he laid 
most of them asleep. 

"Dr. Goldsmith read so slovenly, and with such an Irish brogue, 
that it was sometimes difficult to distinguish his poetry from his 
prose. He was sensible of this himself, and used to say, ' I leave 
the reading of my pieces and the punctuation of them to the play- 
ers and the printers; for, in truth, I know little of either.'" — 
Footers Anecdotes. 

"Amongst Coleridge's accomplishments good reading was not 
one — he had neither voice nor management of voice. This detect 
is unfortunate in a public lecturer, for it is inconceivable how 



Reasons for the Neglect of Elocution. 1 2 1 

One great detriment to the advancement of spo- 
ken language — that is, as to its cultivation for artis- 
tic purposes in the art of reading and delivery — 
in Sheridan's time (and it holds, though in a less 
degree, at the present time), he found to exist in 
the all-absorbing preference given to the study of 
the dead languages over that of the living native 
tongue — that noble state and essence of sound rep- 
resented in the early and later English classics. 
Sheridan says : 

"After the revival of the dead languages, which suddenly 
enlightened the minds of men and diffused general knowl- 
edge, one would imagine that great attention would have 
been paid to an art which was cultivated with so much care 
by those ancients to whom we are indebted for all our lights, 
and that it would have an equal progress amongst us with 
the rest which we had borrowed from them. But it was this 
very circumstance — the revival of the dead languages — which 
put a stop to all improvements in the art of reading, and 
which has continued in the same low state from that time to 
this. From that time the minds of men took a wrong bias. 
Their whole attention was employed in the cultivation of the 
artificial to the neglect of the natural language. Letters, not 
sounds; writing, not speech, became the general care. To 
make boys understand what they read, to explain the mean- 
ing of the Greek and Roman authors, and to write their ex- 
ercises according to the laws of grammar or prosody in a 
dead language, were the chief objects of instruction; whilst 
th.it of delivery was so wholly neglected that the best schol- 
ars often could not make themselves understood in repeat- 



much weight and effectual pathos can be communicated by so- 
us depth and melodious cadences of the human voice to scn- 
timents the mosl trivial; nor, on the other hand, how the grand- 
est arc emasculated by a style "I reading which fails in dis- 
tributing the lights and shadows of a musical intonation." 

v S. I..— 11 



122 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ing their own exercises, or disgraced- beautiful composition 
by an ungracious delivery." 

In our own day is it not alike painful and hu- 
miliating to see the best years of youth spent, dur- 
ing the usual academic and collegiate course of 
instruction, in the study — seldom the acquisition — 
of the dead languages, to the comparative neglect 
of our own, as well as that of other spoken tongues? 
A most valuable treatise on the subject of the 
amount of time devoted to the Latin and Greek 
in the English schools and universities, with sug- 
gestions for a reform in this regard, published in 
1825 by Geo. Jardine, F. R. S. E. , then professor 
of logic and rhetoric in the University of Glasgow, 
contains the following caustic though truthful ob- 
servations : 

"If the study of language be such an essential to the de- 
velopment of the adolescent mind, why," says he, "should 
not living languages be acquired instead of dead ones? They 
have, at least, the additional value of being spoken as well 
as read, and they would be studied with far more delight by 
the young, because they could daily witness the use 2ssA force 
and see the end of such acquisition. But we are told that we 
must cultivate the classic languages, because thus only can we 
acquire taste, literature, poetry, oratory, grammar, etymology, 
and heaven only knows what more. All these things, be 
it remarked, not as they relate to the two languages in ques- 
tion, but as they relate to our own. In this process, also, 
be it again remarked, we are neither compelled to cultivate 
our grammar nor our own language, with all these and what- 
ever categories are involved in it. In fact, our own lan- 
guage and its authors, are not only neglected, but excluded*. 



* Not excluded now, but still comparatively neglected as far as 
the relative time paid to them is concerned. 



Reasons far the Neglect of Elocution. 123 

by the system, and, were it not for our mothers and nui 

should possess as little language as an orang-outang, 

since we should understand neither English, Latin, nor Greek. 

" But yet we are told that without the dead languages we 

would have no models for poetry or eloquence. We must, 
therefore, either deny that the poetry or oratory of Britain 
can be formed by those of Greece and Rome, or, what is 
more easily proved, assert that they are not actually so 
formed; that many of our highest orators and poets have 
derived nothing from classical models, and that there is no 
want in the English language or in those of modern Europe, 

of models to follow or materials to form a taste Are 

we to believe that if the names of Cicero and Demosthenes 
had never been heard, there would not be, or might not have 
been, or will not be, great orators now?" 

I think this question will be satisfactorily an- 
swered by a consideration of the preceding facts in 
the history of the art of delivery amongst the En- 
glish. 

Read Quintilian and Cicero; says scholastic au- 
thority to the earnest seeker for the secret of the 
expressive powers of speech. But unfortunately 
when they are read the practical result is very 
much the same as that in the search for Gratiano's 
reasons as stated by Bassanio : 

"His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bush- 
els of chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them, and 
when you have them, they are not worth the search." 

There can be no doubt that if but one half of 
tile time were devoted in our schools and colleges 
to the proper study of our own spoken tongue, in 
connection with an equal amount of training with ♦ 
regard to the features of its written construction 



1 24 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

that is given to the dead languages, the practical 
proof of its capabilities as a vehicle of both beauty 
and power would soon exist in the artistic delivery, 
as well as in the ordinary speech, of those who by 
such study had mastered a knowledge of all its 
constituent elements of expression. 

A knowledge of the classics doubtless disciplines 
the youthful mind for a true understanding and ap- 
preciation of English, but does it give the tongue 
the ability to deal strongly and eloquently with the 
audible expression of that language in which a 
Shakespeare and a Milton thought, wrote, and 
spoke? — a language which is destined to be heard 
and admired when Greek and Latin syllables in 
their modern sounds shall have become as dusty 
and obscure as the ruins of the ancient temples and 
forums which once re-echoed with their true vocal- 
ities in the service of classic zeal and manly elo- 
quence. 



Chapter XII. 

Capabilities of the EnglisJi Language. 

The English language has been shown to possess, 
when employed in accordance with those principles 
which govern its perfect utterance, all the essentials 
of both musical and powerful effect in speech. An 
English writer (C. J. Plumtre), in a series of lect- 
ures at Kings College, recently published, on the 
subject of elocution (and which are most gratifying 
in the substantial testimony they contain with re- 
gard to the growing recognition of the value of 
this study in England among men of eminence), 
says, in speaking of the carelessness and slovenli- 
ness of utterance amongst the English people: 

"Hence that unmusical and expressionless 'gabble' which 
so often pains and wearies our ears in the reading desk, 
pulpit, and public meeting, which has brought down upon 
our glorious English tongue — that tongue which the great Ger- 
man philologist, Jacob Grimm, asserts to possess a veritable 
power of expression and comprehension unsurpassed by any 
language on earth, whether ancient or modern — the reproach 
of being harsh and rugged. I say most emphatically, the re- 
proach is not deserved. Our English language has not merely 
a sufficiency of consonants to give it nerve, energy, and power, 
but quite a sufficient recurrence of vowel sounds, if justice is 
only done than, to give it full beauty and melody of sound 
in pronunciation. I give this challenge: Let any one hear 

(125) 



126 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

a fine passage from Shakespeare, Milton, or Tennyson, for 
instance, read by an accomplished and refined reader, well 
endowed with good natural gifts, and capable by study and 
practice in the art of elocution of conveying all the poet 
would desire to the senses and feelings of his audience, and 
then say, if he honestly can, that our English language is 
wanting either in grandeur or beauty of sound." 

Sheridan, who, in the capacity of both actor and 
scholar, had every means of appreciating the pow- 
ers and beauties of our spoken language, thus elo- 
quently writes of it : 

"Through the want of inquiry into the true genius and 
power of our own tongue ourselves, we are apt to admit 
whatever criticisms foreigners are pleased to make on our lan- 
guage, and to acquiesce under whatever censure they throw 
out. On such an inquiry, it would be found that probably 
in no language in the world have the vowels, diphthongs, 
semi-vowels, and mutes been so happily blended, and in such 
due proportion, to constitute the three great powers of speech — 
melody, harmony, and expression. And, upon a fair com- 
parison, it would appear that the French have emasculated 
their tongue by rejecting such numbers of their consonants; 
that the German, by abounding too much in harsh conso- 
nants and guttural, has great size and strength, like the statue 
of Hercules Farnese, but no grace; that the Roman, like 
the bust of Antinous, is beautiful indeed, but not manly ; that 
the Italian has beauty, grace, and symmetry, like the Venus 
of Medicis, but is feminine; and that the English alone re- 
sembles the Ancient Greek in uniting the three powers of 
strength, beauty, and grace, like the Apollo of Belvedere. 

"But all the powers of sound must remain in a state of 
confusion or impenetrable darkness while the custom contin- 
ues of applying ourselves wholly to the study of the written 
language and neglecting that of speech. When the art of 
reading with propriety shall have been established and has 
produced its effects, a new field will be opened to our writers, 



The English Language. 127 

unknown to their predecessors, for composition both in poetry 

and prose, which will display in a new light the vast compass 
of our language in point of harmony and expression, from 

the same cause which produced similar effects at Rome in 
the writers of the Ciceronian or Augustine age. For it was 
at that period that the Romans first applied themselves to 
the cultivation of the living language, having before, like us, 
employed themselves wholly about the written." 

"The English language," says one of our own lexicogra- 
phers, "is peculiarly adapted to popular eloquence, being 
nervous and masculine, when pronounced according to the 
genuine composition of its words" 

Sheridan tasks the people of England in his day 
with being a nation of bad readers and speakers in 
spite of the fact that "in no other country is there 
greater need or greater occasion for good reading 
or speaking." Unfortunately, the same may be 
said of our own people as a nation to-day, and 
will, indeed, always be true every-where until spoken 
language takes its proper rank as a branch of edu- 
cation. 

Here, in a land where education is so universal, 
where the power of eloquence is so mighty and so 
valued ; here, in our institutions of advanced learn- 
ing, from the subordinate position in which elocu- 
tion is placed, insufficient time is allowed either 
for the intelligent or artistic study of our spoken 
language, — the common speech of two of the great- 
est nations of the earth ; while the fountain-head 
from which all learning springs — the public schools — 
are without sufficient time or systematic plan for 
the instruction of our children in the correct em- 
ployment of the natural vocal elements of their na- 



128 A Plea for Spoken Lajiguage. 

tive tongue. From this lack of special and intelli- 
gent- instruction in the early stages of education, 
children are permitted, as they advance in years, 
to lose sight of that blessed boon of natural and 
unaffected speech vouchsafed to a state of child- 
hood. The preservation of this gift of nature from 
the inroads of bad habits, so easily acquired in the 
midst of the artificialities of conventional life, de- 
mands a more radical and thorough system of in- 
struction, — a system in which the training (upon 
the natural vocal elements and their significance in 
speech) in the primary departments, would furnish 
a foundation for instruction in the higher grades, 
and thence carry the pupil to the crowning point, 
which molds an easy, unaffected utterance into the 
forms of a perfected elocution. 

The proper place for these last studies would be, 
of course, in connection with rhetoric in a college 
course. But as long as the deficiency exists in the 
early stages of education, irregular and unformed 
habits of speech will inevitably engraft themselves 
upon youth, and, becoming matured before the 
intellectual faculties are fully developed, will pro- 
duce serious obstacles in the way of the acquisition 
of a truly natural, graceful, and finished delivery. 

Articulation, accent, and correct pronunciation, 
purity of tone and pitch of voice, should be taught 
as primary points or elementary features of educa- 
tion ; that is, before the more advanced stage of 
expressive reading or of public address is taken 
up as a special study. 

When this is accomplished, the teacher of elocu- 



7V/c English L a nguage. 1 2 9 

tion xx- ill have tin- advantage enjoyed by the teacher 
of music. His pupils will know, as it were, the 
notes of speech, and he will have but to dictate their 
use, and direct the learner in their execution in the 
interpretation of an author's language. 

The advantages, therefore, of such a systematized 
and graduated method of vocal training in our 
schools, based upon the unchanging laws of nature, 
as would lead by sure and easy stages to the per- 
fections, not only of oratorical delivery and artistic 
reading, but to those of eloquent and natural speech, 
certainly can not be too highly estimated. 

Considering the existing state of things from the 
standpoint 1 have from conviction been led to take, 
I feel justified in stating that the subject of elocu- 
tion, as at present treated in our schools and col- 
leges, possesses neither the characteristics of a science 
nor the practical enforcement of any such fixed 
rules and laws as those upon which are founded the 
formulas of all well disciplined art. Proofs to the 
contrary no doubt exist in exceptional cases, but 
I am safe in saying that there is no generally ac- 
cepted mode of instruction in the art of reading and 
speaking that ought to be, from its intrinsic value, 
the basis for a standard of authority and excellence. 
Of the position elocution occupies in relation to in- 
struction, independent of its general treatment in 
our regular institutions of learning, I shall not speak 
farther than to say that, owing to the object of 
both teacher and pupil being, in the majority of 
cases, and from a popular estimate, immediate re- 
sults, the study is considered, and consequently 



130 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

treated, in too generalistic a sense. Its effects are 
grasped at, without a due appreciation of the meth- 
ods and details of vocal discipline necessary to le- 
gitimately and artistically accomplish those effects. 
The tendency, therefore, is towards exaggerations 
of utterance and crudities of style, and that, too, in 
many cases, where the same amount of native power 
and ability in the student, under the direction of de- 
veloped taste, intelligence, and artistic skill, would 
produce results of the highest order. This desire 
to leap rather than to grow into the mastery of 
bold and strong points betrays the reader or speaker 
into indiscriminate and excessive uses of voice and 
action, — such as unmeaning transitions and exag- 
gerations of tone, "full of sound and fury signify- 
ing nothing;" abrupt starts, striking attitudes, and 
overstrained facial expression, — in short, into what- 
ever will succeed in creating a series of startling 
effects by which to challenge the attention and ad- 
miration of the auditor. The result of this "acting 
out" of the author's language is to defeat the le- 
gitimate and primary object of all good reading, 
which is to present the language through the me- 
dium of the reader's vocal art, instead of obscuring 
the author by an obtrusion of the reader's person- 
ality. 

I speak strongly upon this point because I can 
not but believe, though I do so with regret, that 
the tendency of elocution, as the outcome of ex- 
isting circumstances, is at the present day rather 
towards poor acting than good reading. Indeed, from 
such inartistic methods in the popular treatment oi 



The English Language. 131 

elocution, the subject itself has come under reproach 
amongst a large number of persons of good taste 
and sound judgment, who believe that the)' are 
judging the tree by its fruits. Thus, in large meas- 
ure, may we trace that general indifference to the 
subject among educational authorities, to which we 
have already alluded, and which is to be deplored, 
though it can not be condemned, since we may 
look upon it, in one sense, as a negative indorse- 
ment of the true art when that art and its possi- 
bilities shall come to be fully understood and 
developed. The following, taken from the recent 
English work we have already quoted, may serve 
to confirm the justice of the foregoing remarks: 

"Let me here stop to inquire why it is that a science and 
art like elocution, — for I claim that it is both, — and which, 
in classical times, was so highly valued, should of late years 
have been comparatively disregarded as part of our education; 
and yet music, singing, drawing, and other accomplishments 
have all received their due share of attention, — and most 
properly so, for I should be the last person to undervalue 
the cultivation of any one art that tends to promote the grace 
and refinements of life, and advance the civilization of all 
ranks of society. But why is it that elocution should have 
fallen from the position it once occupied in other days and 
circumstances? Well, one reason, I believe, is to be found 
in the fact that the word has been made a bug-bear of, and 
has frightened away many excellent persons — persons of taste 
and refinement — from the pursuit of its study, through a com- 
pletely erroneous interpretation of its meaning and character. 
Does not many a man entertain a sort of secret conviction, 
even if he does not openly express the opinion, that the 
study and practice of elocution must eventually lead to a 
pompous, bombastic, stilted, and pedantic style, — a style, in 
short, in which the palpably artificial reigns predominant over 



132 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

every thing that is pure, simple, and natural ? Now, all that 
I can say is that, if elocution either means, or, properly un- 
derstood and taught, really tended to, any thing of the kind, 
I should be the last person to advocate its adoption in col-' 
leges, schools, or anywhere else." 

It is needless to add my concurrence in this last 
opinion. Of this " effect defective" in the popu- 
lar method of dealing with the subject of elocution, 
I hope to speak more at length hereafter. I men- 
tion it here briefly for the purpose of calling at- 
tention to a fact that can not be too much depre- 
cated, and that is, that, from the lack of a generally 
accepted standard of true artistic excellence, and 
hence of taste, in the matter of reading and recita- 
tion, the public too often accepts — nay, applauds — 
crudities and exaggerations of style in the place of 
a just copy of nature implied in good reading. 

But when the general taste shall have become 
educated to understand the whole art and its re- 
quirements, as in song, then there will exist a stand- 
ard and a tribunal for the vocal art in speech, from 
whose decisions there will be no appeal. 

I have not set down these things concerning the 
present state of elocution in the spirit of the Shakes- 
perian lines, 

" I am Sir Oracle; 
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!," 

but in that spirit of impartiality which should mark 
all suggestions for the general good, and, in the 
earnest desire for the advancement of the art of 
spoken language through rational means and on 
truly scientific and artistic principles. 



The English Language. 133 

Fixed principles in the arts," says the author 
who has revealed to us those of elocution, " are 
of the utmost importance, not only because they 
arc the true sources of the intellectual enjoyment 
which the arts afford, but they are the most effect- 
ive means for their improvement." With founda- 
tions laid in these, what may we not hope for the 
future of our spoken language. 

In the onward march of the American spirit of 
inquiry and improvement in the science of educa- 
tion, the time must come when the claims of an 
advanced state of elocutionary training will meet 
with the appreciation and support of a generous 
public opinion. Then, as foreshadowed by the elo- 
quence of a Chatham or a Webster, our grand old 
Saxon syllables, rounded by the developed powers 
of a national voice, shall be heard from ocean to 
ocean, rivaling in vocal beauty the far-famed hon- 
ors of the notes of song. 

Let those who doubt the great possibilities of 
the art of spoken language under the combined 
influences of time, scientific principles, and patient 
industry, reflect upon what has been achieved in 
the service of song. Let him reflect, too, upon 
the fact that the tones in which the primitive singer 
sought to give expression to his joy or sorrow were 
only the unheeded sounds of speech, intuitively 
caught up and expanded or diminished, raised or 
depressed, and, in exulting loudness or desponding 
softness, made the echo of the inner life. 

How long did such simple intercourse gladden 
the heart of shepherd and shepherdess, in the re- 



134 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

sponsive notes of pipe and song, before the inven- 
tion of the lettered page or the noted sheet? And 
yet, by patient observation and comparison of the 
various effects of music, by perfecting its symbols 
and nomenclature, whole nations have been edu- 
cated into a capacity, not only for the common en- 
joyment of its highest results, but also for the 
just criticism of its performances. 

The art of music, perfect as it is at present, 
sprang, then, from the most artless beginnings ; 
nor has its progress always been smooth and unin- 
terrupted. From the time that Hermes strung the 
shell with four strings, and first created tones through 
a cycle of ages ; from barbaric rudeness to the high- 
est civilization of the classic era, the art of song 
budded, blossomed, and then faded with the glory 
it had helped to inspire, until it found a grave 
amid the ruins of the Roman Empire. 

But it rose again at the call of the early church, 
in the form of its rude chants, till, beneath the 
fostering wing of religious fervor and inspiration, 
it acquired those glorious perfections by which 
Timotheus raised his fellow-mortals to the skies, 
and the fair Cecilia drew her sister spirits down to 
sit enraptured at the feet of the mistress of song. 

What transcendent talent, what inconceivable time 
and industry have been devoted to the service of 
music since that day, while the smiles of kings and 
princes and the plaudits of the world attest its tri- 
umphs and uphold its sovereignty ! 

The development of the art of speech may be 
considered of perhaps more intrinsic value to the 



The English Language, 135 

human race than even the brilliant and captivating 
department of song. One, at least, in which the 
highest results appeal, not only to the sensations 
of the beautiful in sound, but to the highest intel- 
lectual and moral faculties. 

Says Charles Lunn, a moden scientific authority 
on voice production, in comparing song and speech : 
"An orator, for one end, unites the forces found 
in emotions, in impressions, and in ideas; and he can 
only do this when he possesses absolute control 
over the voice." 

This writer also speaks of the "downfall of tone" 
in speech, which accompanies the advanced intel- 
lectual standard of the present day, and attributes 
it most justly to the exclusive attention to ideas in 
the uses of speech, and the consequent neglect of 
the soinni values of language. He adds, in this 
connection: "Purely as a question of health, the 
voice should be cultivated. Collaterally with the 
culture of words, both spoken words and vocal 
tone should grow up together." 

The time has come for the American educators 
to investigate the claims of the art of spoken lan- 
guage in that spirit of progression which so emi- 
nently characterizes the age. As long as the pub- 
lic men who are looked to for direction and author- 
it}' in matters of educational interest remain indif- 
ferent to, or ignore, the true principles upon which 
is based the proper study of audible reading and 
public address, or fail to acknowledge the practical 
means by which such principles can be plainly man- 
ifested and applied, so long must the vocal perfec- 



136 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

tions of our language remain comparatively un- 
known, and an immense educational power be per- 
mitted to lie undeveloped. 

When all narrow and prejudiced opinions shall 
have given way to more advanced views on the 
subject of elocution, it will not then be looked 
upon as a monopoly in the hands of a small num- 
ber of people known as "Elocutionists," but as a 
necessary branch of all liberal education. 



Jtnvi j^tonir* 



The (Power of Sound in Language. 



P. S. L— i 



(»37) 



CHAPTER I. 

Power of I 'oiee and Gesture Compared. 

\ v.. — It is by no means my design in the present part to at- 
tempt a disquisition upon the origin and growth of language, but 
simply to outline the subject, through the aid of acknowledged au- 
thorities, in a manner that will shed light on the study, to follow, of 

the principles underlying vocal expression in speech. My object, 
therefore, in the preparation of the pages of this part, has been to 
touch upon only the most salient features of the interjectional and 
onomatopoetic theory,as illustrative of the great fundamental prin- 
ciple in vocal expression ; namely, the intimate connection existing 
between sound and feeling.and sound and sense; or, in other words, 
the peculiar significance of sound in speech. 

For the ideas concerning this theory of language, and for many 
of the forms, I wish to acknowledge myself chiefly indebted to the 
valuable work of the Rev. Frederick W. Farrar, M. A. 

I have stated the fact, in the preceding part, that 
the relations existing between the various states of 
mind and the speaking voice constitute the basis 
of the true philosophy of the latter, and hence the 
great value of Dr. Rush's discoveries. In the fol- 
lowing pages, I think I shall be able to show that 
these mental and vocal relationships are more in- 
timate and more easily traceable than may be at 
first supposed. 

This great fundamental principle should, then, 
be regarded as one of primary consideration in a 
proper study of elocution. 

Writers on elocution, both ancient and modern, 
previous to Rush, recognized the existence of such 

('39) 



1 40 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

relationships in a general sense, but a knowledge 
of their exact character or specific features, as ex- 
isting in the varied forms of vocal expression, seems 
not to have been perceived, or, at least, not devel- 
oped in any writings before those of this author. 

Sheridan, who has treated the subject more ex- 
tensively than any of the other early writers, wrote 
upon it with great ability and correctness as far as 
he went; and it is upon the grounds established by 
him that Dr. Rush proceeded in his analysis of the 
vocal sounds for the purpose of discovering their 
elements of significance and power. Sheridan says 
most truly: 

"The mind, in communicating its ideas, is in a continual 
state of activity, emotion, or agitation, from the different ef- 
fects which these ideas produce in the mind of the speaker. 
Now, as the end of such communication is not merely to lay 
open the ideas, but also the different feelings which they ex- 
cite in him who utters them, there must be some other marks 
beside words to manifest these, as words uttered in a monot- 
onous state can only represent a similar state of mind, per- 
fectly free from all activity or emotion. As the communica- 
tion of these internal feelings was a matter of much more 
consequence in our social intercourse than the mere convey- 
ing of ideas, so the Author of our being did not leave the 
invention of this language, as in the other case, to man, but 
stamped it himself upon our nature in the same manner as 
he has done with the animal world, who all express their 
various feelings by various tones. Only ours, from the su- 
perior rank we hold, is infinitely more comprehensive; as 
there is not an act of the mind, an exertion of the fancy, or 
an emotion of the heart, which have not their peculiar tone 
or note of the voice by which they are to be expressed, all 
suited in the exactest proportion to the several degrees of 
internal feelinsr." 



Voice and Gesture* 141 

No writer on elocution, I believe, has attempted 
to explain the reason of this correspondence between 
the mental state and the vocal sign, beyond the fact 
that the mental agitation or excitement has, by 
observation, as in Sheridan's case, been found to 
produce certain effects; which effects have farther, 
in the case of Rush, been analyzed and classified 
in detail, in accordance with the psychological con- 
dition primarily producing them. But we have in 
addition a most satisfactory elucidation of the sub- 
ject from the stand-point of physiological science, 
from the pen of Herbert Spencer, in his valuable 
article on "The Origin and Functions of Music," 
in which he also treats of speech, and shows that 
music was but an outgrowth from the original vo- 
cal sounds of spoken language. The following are 
a few extracts upon the point under present con- 
sideration : 

"All vocal sounds are produced by the agency of certain 
muscles.* These muscles, in common with those of the body 
at large, are excited to contraction by pleasurable and pain- 
ful feelings, and therefore it is that feelings demonstrate 
themselves in sounds as well as movements; therefore it is 
that Carlo barks as well as leaps when he is let out; that 
puss purs as well as erects her tail; that the canary chirps 
as well as flutters. Therefore it is that the angry lion roars 
while he lashes his sides, and the dog growls while he re- 
tracts his lips. Therefore it is that the maimed animal not 
only struggles but howls; and it is from this cause that, in 
human brings, bodily suffering expresses itself, not only in 
contortions, but in shrieks and groans, — that in anger, anil 

•That the vocal chords are a muscular organism, ami that the 
act of breathing i^ also performed by muscular agencies, arc well- 
known physiological facts. 



142 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

fear, and grief, the gesticulations are accompanied by shouts 
and screams, — that delightful sensations are followed by ex- 
clamations, and we hear screams of joy and shouts of exul- 
tation. We have here, then, a principle underlying all vocal 
phenomena. The muscles that move the chest, larynx, and 
vocal chords, contracting like other muscles in proportion to 
the intensity of the feelings; every different contraction of 
these muscles involving, as it does, a different adjustment of 
the vocal organs ; every different adjustment of the vocal or- 
gans causing a change in the sound emitted ; — it follows that 
the variations of voice are the physiological results of varia- 
tions of feeling; it follows that each inflection or modula- 
tion is the natural outcome of some passing emotion or sen- 
sation; and it follows that the explanation of all kinds of 
vocal expression must be sought in this general relation be- 
tween mental and muscular excitements." 

After having illustrated this point by a number 
of valuable instances of the various modes of vocal 
expression, which it will be more directly to our 
purpose to quote hereafter, he proceeds: 

"Thus we find all the leading vocal phenomena to have 
a physiological basis. They are so many manifestations of 
the general law that feeling is a stimulus to muscular action — 
a law conformed to throughout the whole economy, not of 
man only, but of every sensitive creature — a law, therefore, 
which lies deep in the nature of animal organization. The 
expressiveness of these various modifications of voice is, there- 
fore, innate. Each of us, from babyhood upwards, has been 
spontaneously making them, when under the various sensa- 
tions and emotions by which they are produced. Having 
been conscious of each feeling at the same time that we 
heard ourselves make the consequent sound, we have ac- 
quired an established association of ideas between such sound 
and the feeling which caused it. When the like sound is 
made by another, we ascribe the like feeling to him; and 
by a further consequence we not only ascribe to him that 



Voice and Gesture. 143 

feeling, but have a certain degree of it aroused in ourselves: 
for to become conscious of the feeling which another is ex- 
periencing, is to have that feeling awakened in our conscious- 
ness All speech, then, is compounded of two elements, — 

the words and the tones in which they are uttered, — the signs 
ol~ ideas, and the signs of feelings. While certain articulations 
express the thought, certain vocal sounds express the more 
or less of pain or pleasure which the thought gives. Using 
the word cadence in an universally extended sense, as com- 
prehending all modifications of voice, we may say that cadence 
is the commentary of. the emotions upon the propositions of the 
intellect. This duality of spoken language, though not for- 
mally recognized, is recognized in practice by every one; and 
every one knows that very often more weight attaches to the 
tones than to the words." 

From this stand-point, then, that "mental excite- 
ment of all kinds ends in excitement of the mus- 
cles, " and that the muscles of the vocal organism 
are subject to this universal law, Spencer furnishes 
us with the intermediate link, so to speak, between 
the primary cause already recognized in the state of 
mind and the ultimate effect as expressed in vocal 
phenomena. As an expression of the ideas of the 
ancients on this point, we have the words of Cicero: 

"Every passion of the heart has its own appropriate look, 
tone, and gesture; and a man's whole countenance, his whole 
body, and all the voices of his mouth, re-echo like the strings 
of a harp to the touch of every emotion in his soul." 

Thus man may be said to be gifted with two 
forms of natural language, the one appealing to the 
eye, and the other to the ear, both expressive, and, 
when used together, powerful beyond compare. 
The flash of the eye, the contraction of the brow, 



144 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

or its sudden lifting, the pallor or flush of the 
countenance, the compressed lip or open mouth, 
the varied movements of the hands and arms, the 
positive indications of the fingers ; the various at- 
titudes of the body, all aid in conveying, in a cer- 
tain sense, a significant expression. 

In moments of extreme passion the disturbing 
thoughts may be mutely expressed, and with great 
power and effect, by these alone ; but we have 
innumerable proofs that the soul is more nearly 
reached through the ear than through the eye, 
therefore the language of sound is far superior in 
its range and power of expression to those mute 
indications of the state of the mind, embodied in 
look and gesture. 

The following quotation from Canon Farrar, in 
which he embodies the opinions of Heyse, Charma, 
and Herder, strongly illustrates the point under 
discussion : 

"It is, however, easy to see that gesture could never be 
a perfect means of intercommunication. Energetic, rapid, 
and faithful, it is yet obscure, because it is sylleptic ; i. e., it 
expresses but the most general facts of the situation, and is 
incapable of distinguishing or decomposing them, and wholly 
inadequate to express the delicate shades of difference of 
which every form of verbal expression is capable. The flashing 
of a glance may belie years of fulsome panegyric; a sudden 
yawn may dissipate the effect of a mass of compliments poured 
out during hours of simulated interest; an irrepressible tear, 
a stolen and smothered sigh, the flutter of a nerve, or the 
tremble of a finger, may betray the secret of a life which no 
words could ever have revealed. The veiled and silent fig- 
ure of Niobe may be more full of pathos than the most gar- 
rulous of wailing elegies. The wounds of the victor of Mar- 



Voice and Gesture, [45 

athon, or the maimed figure of the brother of /Eschylus, the 
unveiled bosom of l'hryne, or the hand pointing to the Cap- 
itol which Manlius had saved, may have produced effects 
more thrilling than any eloquence; but such appeals were 
only possible at moments of intense passion, or under a pe- 
culiar combination of circumstances. The ancient orators, 
well aware of the power which lies in these mute appeals, 
made them gradually ridiculous by the frequency with which 
they employed them; and the introduction of a weeping boy 
upon the rostrum would produce but little weight when many 
of the audience knew that weeping may express a wide va- 
riety of emotions, and when an injudicious question as to the 
obscure cause of these moving tears might elicit the mal- 
apropos complaint, 'the master flogged.' 

"In moments of extreme passion, then, a language of ges- 
ture, a language appealing to the eye rather than to the ear, 
is not only possible but extremely powerful, and one which 
will never be entirely superseded. And possibly some natures 
may be so sensitive, some faces so expressive, that even dur- 
ing the most peaceful and equable moments of life, the pass- 
ing thought may touch the countenance with its brightness or 
its gloom. But this could never be the case with any but a 
few; and even with these, what attention would be found 
equal to read and interpret, without fatigue, symbols and 
expressions so subtle and so fugitive? Moreover, to the blind, 
and to all during the darkness, and whenever an opaque body 
intervened, and whenever the face was turned in another 
direction, such language would instantly become impossible. 
It is incapable of representing the distinctness and succes- 
siveness of thought ; it is limited on every side by physical 
conditions; it requires an attention too exclusive and intense; 
it would reach a shorter distance, and appeal to a less spirit- 
ual sense. For, though both sight and hearing are ideal senses, 
as distinguished from the inferior ones of touch and taste 
and smell, hearing is more ideal in its nature, and reaches 
more nearly to the soul than sight. It is the clearest, liveli- 
est, and most instantaneously affected of the senses. That 
which is seen is material, and remains in space; but that 
P. S. I 



1 46 A Plea for Spoken Langtiage. 

which is heard (although as permanent and as corporeal), yet, 
to our blunt senses, has a purely ideal existence, and van- 
ishes immediately in time. Hence, sound is especially adapted 
to be the bearer, and the ear to be the receiver of thought, 
which is an activity requiring time for its successive devel- 
opments, and is therefore well expressed by a succession of 
audible sounds. Juxtaposition in space, appealing to the eye, 
could only remotely and analogously recall this succession 
in time. Moreover, hearing requires but the air, the most 
universal of all mediums, the most immediate condition of 
life; whereas, the eye requires light as well, and is far more 
dependent on external accidents. The fact that even a 
sleeper is instantly awoke to consciousness by the tremor of 
his auditory nerve under the influence of the voice, is a 
proof of the impression and immediate adaptability of sound 
to the exigencies of the intellectual life ; so that hearing is 
the very innermost of the senses, and stands in the strictest 
and closest connection with our spiritual existence. The ear 
is the ever-open gateway of the soul, and, carried on the in- 
visible wings of sound, there are ever thronging through its 
portals, in the guise of living realities, those things which of 
themselves are incorporeal and unseen. Wonderful, indeed, 
that a pulse of articulated air should be the only, or, at any 
rate, the most perfect, means wherewith to express our thoughts 
and feelings. Without its incomprehensible points of union 
with all that passes in a soul which yet seems so wholly dis- 
similar from it, those thoughts and emotions could, perhaps, 
have no distinct existence — the exquisite organism of our 
hearing would have been rendered useless, and the entire 
plan of our existence would have remained unperfected." 

Rush divides spoken languages into two kinds — 
instinctive or natural, and artificial or verbal — shows 
us that a union of the natural and verbal gives 
the most exact and impressive vocal representation 
of the logical and the passionative states of the 
mind. 



/ bice a)id Gestur 147 

First, let us sec what is the full meaning of the 
expression natural language. To quote Sheridan 
again in this connection, he says : 

"In the beginning, barbarous nations have nature only for 
their guide in their speech, as in every thing else. With them, 
therefore, all changes of the voice and the different notes 
and inflections used in uttering their thoughts, were the re- 
sult of the acts and emotions of the mind, to each of which 
nature herself has assigned her peculiar note. In a calm 
state of mind the notes of the voice, in unison to that state, 
are little varied, and the words are uttered nearly in a mono- 
tone.* When the mind is agitated by passion, or under any 
emotion whatever, the tones expressive of such passion or 
emotion spontaneously break forth, being unerring signs fixed 
to such internal feelings by the hand of nature, and common 
to all men and universally intelligible, in the same manner 
as the sounds and cries uttered by different animals." 

It has been said that by one of nature's laws 
nearly every thing that is struck rings, and that so 
it is with the human being. The passions and emo- 
tions, striking, as it were, upon our sensitive or 
nervous nature, force from the lips certain involun- 
tary cries or other vocal utterance, as the tones of 
the bell ring out in response to the stroke of the 
clapper, f The sounds of the voice in spontaneous 
utterance, expressive of love, grief, hatred, and the 
other emotions and passions, are natural operations, 
therefore, of the voice, and not only intelligible in 
every language and understood by all of our own 
species, but also by the lower animals. 



*This last assertion is too sweeping, but the idea as to the 
psychological cause for corresponding vocal effects is well stated. 

t In the words of Canon Farrar, by .1 law of nature, 

is the natural and spontaneous result of impression. 



148 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

Speaking in reference to this point, Sheridan says : 

"The horse rejoices in the applauding tones of his rider's 
voice, and trembles when he changes them to those of 
anger. What blandishments do we see in the dog when 
his master soothes him in kind tones; what fear, and even 
shame, when he changes them to those of chiding. By 
those the wagoner directs his team and the herdsman his 
flock. Even animals of the most savage nature are not 
proof against the collective tones of the human voice; and 
shouts of multitudes will put wild beasts to flight who can 
hear, without emotion, the roarings of thunder. The circum- 
stance is singular, that the ear, from the influence of tones, 
should excite and strengthen compassion so much more pow- 
erfully than the eye. The sigh of a brute animal, the en- 
forced from him by bodily suffering, brings about him all his 
fellows, who, as has often been observed, stand mournfully 
round the sufferer, and would willingly lend him assistance. 
Man, too, at the sight of suffering, is more apt to be im- 
pressed with fear and tremor than with tender compassion ; 
but no sooner does the voice of the sufferer reach him than 
the spell is dissolved, and he hastens to him — he is pierced 
to the heart." 

Indeed, so closely are the tones of voice con- 
nected with corresponding mental conditions that 
the most impressive effects may be produced by 
the voice sounds alone, independent of words. 

There are certain cries that are the natural and 
even necessary expression of the stronger impulses 
or sensations of the mind — certain inarticulate 
bursts of feeling to which men give utterance when, 
in the vehemence or suddenness of some pain, 
affliction, or passion, they seem to return to a 
state of nature, losing, for the moment, the con- 
ventional or verbal forms of speech. These cries 



Voice and Gesture. 149 

arc retained in all languages unchanged (except as 

modified in degree and quality of sound by the 
prevailing national temperament), and used alike by 
all races of to-day. Says Sheridan again : 

"The tones expressive of sorrow, lamentation, mirth, joy, 
hatred, love, pity, etc., although usually accompanied with 
words, in order that the understanding may, at the same 
time, perceive the cause of these emotions by a communica- 
tion of the particular idea? which excite them.; yet, that the 
whole energy or power of exciting analogous emotions in 
others, lies in the tones themselves, may be known from this: 
that whenever the force of these passions is extreme, words 
give place to inarticulate sounds. Sighs ana murmurings in 
love; sobs, groans, and cries in grief; half-choked sounds in 
rage ; and shrieks in terror are then the only language heard. 
And the experience of mankind may be appealed to whether 
these have not more power in exciting sympathy than any 
thing that can be done by mere words." 

To give a familiar illustration of this expressive 
character of inarticulate sounds, I was once wait- 
ing in the ante-room of a dentist, when my atten- 
tion was suddenly arrested by a loud cry from the 
next room, which, after continuing for a moment 
or two at the utmost altitude of pitch, suddenly 
dropped to the lowest audible sound, and termina- 
ted in an extended groan or grunt. The two ex- 
tremes of vocality were so expressive as to require 
no explanation of their meaning. The shrill scream 
said more plainly than words, "Oh, how terribly 
it hurts!" While the groans into which the cry 
suddenly changed was quite as clearly expressive 
of "Oh, thank heaven, it's over!" Instances of a 
similar character could be multiplied indefinitely, all 



150 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

illustrating the expressive power of sound in the 
speaking voice. In all languages may be found a 
large number of interjectional words, traceable to 
these instinctive cries, expressive of fear, anger, 
pleasure, astonishment, sorrow, compassion, disgust, 
and other similar feelings, and produced by impres- 
sions received from without chiefly through the 
senses of sight and hearing. However merely ani- 
mal in their nature these interjections may have 
been originally, they were most probably the first 
to acquire the dignity and significance of speech, 
since these utterances must have expressed so dis- 
tinctly and vividly to the hearer, by the association 
of ideas, the feelings or sensations of which they 
were the energetic and spontaneous expression. In 
the language of Herder, "They were the sparks 
of Promethian fire which kindled language into life." 
They form, in the truthfulness and simplicity of 
their characters, one of the chief glories of language, 
and have added a singular force and charm to the 
impassioned utterances of poetry. Many an ex- 
quisite passage owes its beauty and pathos to these 
earliest elements of speech, as in the following lines 
from Wordsworth : 

" She lived unknown, — and few might know 
When Lucy ceased to be; 
But she is in her grave, — and oh, 
The difference to me!" 

It is related of the celebrated preacher Whitfield 
that he threw a world of pathos and meaning — pity 
for the unconverted sinner, and sorrow for his hard- 
ness of heart — into such interjectional expressions 



Voice and Gesture* i 5 1 

as "All, my friend!" and "Oil, my brother!," 
which gave him a power over the human heart 
that was wonderful. It was the appeal of the nat- 
ural man to the natural man, as it were, through 
the universal medium of sympathetic communica- 
tion. 



Chapter II. 

The Devclopme?it of Language. 

In view of the preceding facts and statements, it 
is not difficult to believe that sounds without verbal 
or conventional forms were the first means of com- 
munication between man and man ; and that these 
first utterances must have consisted in the expres- 
sion of emotion and passion, since the conventional 
language of ideas was necessarily a gradual growth, 
not disconnected, as we shall see, with the natural 
language, but more independent of it than the lan- 
guage of feeling and passion. 

However men may disagree as to the modes and 
means by which primal man attained to the almost 
fabulous achievement, — a starting-point in the pro- 
gressive stages of intelligent speech, — all will agree 
that the vocal organs of the human being were 
created for the purposes of language ; so we may 
conclude that the intelligence of man prompted him, 
by untiring efforts, to consummate the vocal effects 
which the mechanism of the voice was created to 
produce. It has been said that each man is in all 
things an epitome of the race. Following this 
idea in the matter of language, take the infant in 
the cradle, or before the period when he seeks to 
(152) 



Development of Language. 153 

express himself in articulated sounds, and we have 
the type of the infancy of language, while inarticu- 
late sound was as yet the primary means of com- 
munication between human beings. Here we see 
the expressive vocality as exhibited in a natural 
effort to attract sympathetic attention or to com- 
municate wants, and the power of vocal utterance, 
independent of fixed verbal forms ; for the mother 
understands the cooing, whining, or droning of 
the babe, or its iterated particles of sound, its spas- 
modic sobs or more extended sighs or wails, as 
natural signs of the state of the quiet mind or ex- 
cited feelings. In the more advanced stage of de- 
velopment, these vocal signs become involved with 
the verbal or conventional, and, as life progresses, 
their combined effects are used in the communica- 
tion of thought or the expression of emotion or 
passion. 

The subject of the growth of language — or, rather, 
of the principles underlying its growth — is one, not 
only of interest to the student of elocution, but 
also of the greatest importance ; as, by going back 
to the origin of conventional or verbal forms, it re- 
veals the many close ties that unite sound and 
sense in our speech, as well as the resemblance 
to be found between the latter and the various 
sounds throughout nature. Its study will thus teach 
him to observe the great value of sound as em- 
bodied in the vocal forms of spoken language, and 
thus enable him to trace its vitalizing character as 
an agent of expressive effect in reading, and in 
dramatic or oratorical speech. The constitution and 



154 <d Plea for Spoken Language. 

materials, then, of the living, breathing word becomes 
a subject of the first importance. We have seen 
that the real or vocal elements of language were 
provided, by divine law, in the nature and instincts 
of the primitive man. His emotional and imitative 
cries furnished the means by which he was enabled 
to express his own sensations, and to recall the 
most striking objects and influences that surrounded 
him.* All the sounds of nature were called upon 
to contribute their share to the growing speech. 
The voices of living animals ; the rustling and whis- 
pering of the forest leaves ; the booming of the 
surging sea upon the shore ; the howl and shriek 
of the voices of the storm ; the boiling, seething, 
rushing, and roaring of the cataract ; the rippling 
murmur of the brook ; and the sighing cadences of 
the wind; — all were adopted by man for his use in 
the art of articulate language : and all the senses, 
the memory, the understanding, the will, were ac- 



* These interjections, intimating generally a desire to command, 
or to convey significant meaning to some other person, have 
been called by the German writers lautgeberden or begtrungslaute^ 
vocal gesture or sounds of desire. They are found in the ut- 
terances, st! sh!, and were called vocal gestures because they are 
often connected with gestures, and can be represented by them ; 
as, "sh!", with the finger on the lips, and "st!", an equiva- 
lent to "hark," with the finger beckoning or raised to the 
ear. Being mainly consonantal, they approach nearer, in their 
origin to the complicated articulations of speech than the class 
of interjections first alluded to, in which the consonants play a 
very subordinate part; and they differ from them in being, not 
merely the expression of a passive feeling, but the energetic ut- 
terance of will, while they also correspond to an important step 
in the advance of human intelligence. Hush! hist! hark! ahoy! 
hallo ! and all similar cries belong to this class of words, besides 
all the isolated monosyllables or longer words by which we invite 
or repel the approach of others, or encourage or check their efforts. 



Development of Language. 155 

lively engaged in giving form and growth to this 
important art. The merely interjectional and imi- 
tative cries, or verbal impulses, that were originally 
employed to express the feelings or recall number- 
less objects and influences of the outward world, 
received positive syllabic form and outline from the 
articulative modifications that are ever at work in 
language.* 

Of course the impulsive imitative effort to repro- 
duce sounds in the formation of language, was not 
to make identical representations of the original 
sound, but an effort to reproduce the impression 
such influences made upon the mind. Thus each 
race, possessing different mental and temperamental 
characteristics, would differ in the verbal expression 



•"It is a curious and interesting fact that even among un- 
civilized nations we find what appears to he a trace, mythologi- 
cally expressed, of this same conception ; viz., that it was the 
mighty diapason of nature which furnished man with the tones 
which he modulated into articulate speech. The Esthonian le- 
gend of the kettle of hoiling water which 'the aged one' placed 
on the tire, and from the hissing and boiling of which the vari- 
ous nations learned their languages and dialects, mythically rep- 
resents the Kesselberg, with its crests enveloped in the clouds of 
summer steam, which they regarded as the throne of the thun- 
der-god ; and the languages which it distributes are the rolling 
echoes of thunder anil lightning, storm and rain. They have an- 
other and still more beautiful legend, of a similar character, to 
explain the origin of Long or Festal speech. The god of song. 
Waunemunne, descended on the Domberg, on which stands a 
sacred wood, and there played and sang. All creatures were in- 
vited to listen, and they each learned some fragment of the celestial 
sound; the listening wood learnt its rustling; the stream its roar; 
the wind caught and learned to re-echo the shrillest tones, and 
the birds the prelude of the song. The fish stuck up their heads 
as far as the eyes out of the water, but left their ears under water ; 
they saw the movements of the god's mouth, and imitated them, 
but remained dumb. Man only grasped it all ; and therefore his 
song pierces into the depths of the heart, and upwards to the 
dwellings of the gods." Farm)-. 



156 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

of these impressions as the national characteristics 
and circumstances of climate, etc., differed. In ad- 
dition to this change from the original sounds at- 
tendant upon an imitated impression, there was also 
another produced by the operations of the vocal 
organs, — the sounds of nature being inarticulate, 
but in speech becoming articulate. This point may 
be illustrated by the fact that a little child may 
readily learn to imitate the crow of a cock by 
making use of but one capacity of his voice ; but 
he is more apt to articulate the impression he has 
received of the cock's crow, and cock-a-doodle-do 
becomes the sign of the sound that he thus imi- 
tates. The varied forms which many words have 
assumed in different languages, and which are yet 
all directly inspired by the imitative principle, shows 
that "what the eye sees, and the ear hears, de- 
pends in no small manner upon the brain and 
heart"; or, as we have before suggested, upon the 
mental and temperamental alembic through which 
impressions pass before their reproduction by the 
voice. The imitative crow, before referred to, of 
"cock-a-doodle-doo," is changed, in other languages, 
into ' ' hicken-hoe " and a variety of other articu- 
lated forms ; and yet, in all of them, it is a merely 
imitated impression. We are told that, during the 
time of the enthusiasm among the French people, 
upon the return of Bonaparte from Elba, the sound 
of the cock-crow became to their ears a distinct 
exclamation, and they confidently believed and de- 
clared they heard every cock shout distinctly, 
"Vive l'Empereur!" 



Development of Language. 157 

The spirit of spoken language is so far lost in 
its printed reproductions upon paper, that it is some- 
times difficult to discover the close sound resemblance 
of imitative words through their changes of form 
in different languages. Bang in English, and pouf 
in French, are both imitative of the sound of a 
gun, and yet how much unlike they seem when 
written. Though, in this case, the English word 
probably imitates the sound of the explosion, and 
the French the flash from the powder, showing how 
in one language one impression connected with a 
certain thing may be the object of imitation, while 
in another, a different feature of the same thing 
may have made a deeper impression, producing a 
totally dissimilar result in its verbal form of ex- 
pression. Coleridge speaks of the nightingale's 
tone as it " Murmurs, musical and sweet, jug, jug; " 
while Tennyson writes, in the person of a peasant 
woman, "Whit, whit, whit, in the bush beside me, 
chirrupt the nightingale." And the Turkish poet, 
still trying to reproduce the same sounds, calls the 
bird a "bul-bul." 

The sounds produced by the mass of inanimate 
objects generally indicate clearly to us their char- 
acter and properties. The clang of the various 
metals, from the deep reverberations of iron to the 
tremulous shiver of steel, and the sharp tinkling 
of brass and tin ; the whisper and splash of co- 
hesionless liquids ; the crackle and blare and roar 
of flame ; the ringing resonance of stone and mar- 
ble ; the creaking of green boughs ; the ripping 
of splintered wood ; the chink of glass, and the 



158 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

dull thud of soft and yielding bodies ; the discon- 
tinuous rattle of their dry substances, and the flap 
and rustle of woven fabrics in the wind ;— all of 
these sounds, and thousands more, are capable of 
articulate imitation, and have been adopted into 
language in the form of words, whose sounds are 
indicative or suggestive of their meaning. 

Sheridan has, perhaps, amongst the whole range 
of writers on the subject of words most thoroughly 
combined a theoretical and practical knowledge of 
their vocal properties. Perhaps better analyses of 
the mere alphabet have been made by others, but 
the value of letters in their combinations has not 
been so thoroughly investigated, or so completely 
explained by any other writer within our knowledge. 
He says : 

"As the nature of syllables depends upon the nature of 
the letters whereof they are composed, some coalescing with 
ease, and others not mixing without difficulty ; so the nature 
of words depends upon the same principle; and they are 
harsh or smooth to the ear in proportion as each subsequent 
syllable is with ease or difficulty pronounced after each pre- 
ceding one. Their strength or weakness also evidently de- 
pends upon those properties in their component syllables." 

He then refers to the imitative or mimical words, 
the sound of which. is indicative of the sense, as 
derived from the cries of animals or from sounds 
in nature. He tells us that among vowels, the a 
(awe) was borrowed from the crow ; the a (hate) 
from the sheep ; the a (bat) from the goat ; the 
(prove) from the dove ; the (note) from the ox ; 
the ow from the dog, etc. Of the consonants, we 



Development of Language. 159 

borrow b from the sheep ; k from the crow ; m from 
the ox ; s from the serpent ; ///, in thistle, from the 
goose. Of inanimate objects, /resembles the sound 
of the wind blowing through apertures ; v, the rapid 
movements of spinning-wheels; s/i, the sound of 
rockets previous to explosion ; s, the flight of an 
arrow ; ng t the terminal sound of a bell. The mutes 
and short vowels are best filled to express short 
sounds ; the semi-vowels (liquids) and long vowels, 
sounds of continuance. The semi-vowels, the clear; 
the mutes, the obtuse sounds. The aspirated letters 
in combination, the strong; the simple, the weaker 
sounds. Thus we have glide, grow, tap, pat, slap, 
kick, pit, mink, but, stop, stab, step, quit, back, 
break, tall, leap, move, loiter, groan, gloat, lead, 
alive, gurgle, murmur, enduring, ring, bright, clear, 
laugh, bell, light, sheen, glimmer, liquid, lively, 
little, dark, third, throb, knock, plant, pack, dump, 
knot, abut, despotic, harsh, hiss, firm, stiff, sheet, 
shout, fetter, horrible, weak, loft, flow, steam, 
smooth, sing, sweet, lure, easy. 

There is also an expressive power in words which 
represent ideas that come into the mind through 
the other senses (beside that of hearing), and which, 
though from the nature of things they can not have 
the least similarity to those ideas, yet have a cer- 
tain congruity with them, which makes them fitter 
to represent those ideas than words of a different 
construction. To illustrate, words beginning with 
the consonants str, signify force and general exer- 
tion of force. 

Strong, strive, struggle, stretch, strenuous, stress, 



1 60 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

strike, stroke, string, strew, strict, strangle, strict- 
ure, straggle. 

As will be seen by these examples, the first 
letter in this combination is formed by the sharp 
force of the breath in a hissing sound, which is 
interrupted by the pure mute /, that borrows its 
sound, not from a vowel, but from the semi-vowel 
r, with which it unites itself with difficulty, and 
therefore occasions the harsh sound of the roughest 
and strongest of the consonants to be heard in full 
force. When the r is omitted, and st only begins 
the syllable, it is still expressive of strength, but 
in a less degree and without so much exertion, as : 
stand, stay, steadfast, sturdy, stiff, stagger, stamp, 
stanch, stare, steer, and a few nouns which do not 
so exactly express the idea of the others. Thr 
marks violent motion ; as, throw, thrust, throng, 
thrive, throttle. There are but few words of this 
composition. 

Sw marks a silent agitation, or a gentle and more 
equable motion, as swim, sway, swell, swath, swift, 
sweat, swerve, swagger, swaddle, sweep, swash, 
swab, swan. Apparently swear, sweeten, swindle, 
and sword do not answer the conditions. Sp de- 
notes a dissipation, or expansion, and generally a 
quick one ; as, spit, sputter, speak, spread, spell, 
sprinkle, spin, split, spear, splash, sparkle, spoil, 
spade, spike, spangle, spank. In the word spar- 
kle, sp denotes dissipation ; or, accute crackling ; 
k, a sudden interruption, and /, a frequent itera- 
tion. SI denotes motion, but of a more equable 
kind ; as, slow, slant, slur, slice, slobber, sliver, 



Development of Language. 161 

slouch, sling, slacken ; and, doubtfully, slap, slander, 
sleek, slave, slumber, slaw 

Ask, as a termination, indicates something acting 
nimbly and sharply : clash, slash, gash, crash ; 
while usk, similarly used, implies acting forcibly, 
though not with such nimbleness or smartness ; as, 
crush, rush, gush, flush, blush, push. Ing y terminal, 
implies the continuation of a motion or tremor, at 
length indeed vanishing, but not suddenly inter- 
rupted; as, swing, sing, sling, sting; while ink, 
closing with a pure mute, indicates a sudden end- 
ing ; as, clink, blink, wink. If there be an / added 
to those terminations, there is implied a frequent 
iteration of the acts : jingle, tingle, mingle, tinkle, 
sprinkle, twinkle. But still the acts expressed by 
ing are not so sudden or evanescent as those by 
ink; jingle expresses longer duration as well as 
something more forcible than tinkle, mingle than 
sprinkle, tingle than twinkle. 

The close connection existing between the dif- 
ferent senses is constantly making itself felt in this 
imitative language of nature, and in what may be 
regarded as its highest expression, the impassioned 
utterances and the figures of poetry. Thus the 
analogy formed in our minds between the phenom- 
ena of light and sound gives us the corresponding 
words of skeen for clear, brightness for sound, reflec- 
tion for echo, and glimmer for noise; glow and clang 
seem but one word ; and not only does tone cor- 
respond to color, but all the different colors seem 
to have their corresponding tones. There is a 
familiar instance in the story of a blind man who, 

P. S. L.-14. 



1 62 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

upon being asked what idea he had of scarlet, re- 
plied that it was like the sound of a trumpet. A 
deaf mute has been known also to liken the note 
of a trumpet to scarlet. In like manner, Gardiner, 
in his "Music of Nature," has characterized a 
number of musical instruments by colors, classing 
them thus : clarionet, orange ; oboe, yellow ; bas- 
soon, deep yellow ; flute, sky blue ; diapason, 
deeper blue ; double diapason, purple ; horn, violet ; 
violin, pink ; viola, rose ; violincello, red ; double 
bass, deep crimson red. Akenside speaks of tast- 
ing the fragrance of a rose, and Byron of "inlial- 
ing an ambrosial aspect." The adjectives nice and 
sweet, which properly belong to taste alone, are 
indiscriminately applied to all things that are pleas- 
ing ; and the adjectives soft, sharp, mild, rough, 
smooth, and hard, are used to describe objects, 
not only of feeling, but also of sight, of taste, 
and of sound. Leaving out the merely animal 
cries and the interjections, we append a list of 
words where the sound is suggestive of the sense, 
in a greater or less degree : 

Flap, roll, gouts, whizz, rumble, shout, pop, 
thwart, bang, -lull, crack, twirl, rush, moan, whistle, 
shatter, jostle, jangle, clink, shout, pour, slam, 
thump, peal, smooth hiss, wrinkle, bluster, puff, 
hurry, climb, grope, strick, stagger, brawl, squall, 
shudder, clatter, log, buzz, lisp, romp, sputter, 
clap, dreary, crackle, swathe, crash, rub, quick, 
glide, daub, pull, yell, scream, smash, dash, break, 
tear, grate. 

The same principle that employed the sound re- 



Development of Language. 16 



j 



ceived, through the one sense of hearing, to illus- 
trate all the various impressions made upon the 
brain from without, was adopted in naming the 
more spiritual and intellectual phenomena of the 

mind. These, though intangible, are none the less 
really felt, and a resemblance to the other operations 
of the mind having been discovered in them, they 
were represented by means of self-suggestive sym- 
bols, chosen and combined from among the imita- 
tive and interjectional w r ords of language. The 
growth of language must at all times have been 
gradual and slow, and though the imagination, so 
warm and strong in the primitive man, was actively 
engaged in creating the resources of speech for the 
wants of the growing intellect, it is probable that 
long periods passed by before it was called upon 
to exert its sway over the higher realms of speech. 
A high degree of cultivation was required to ena- 
ble the mind to give distinct shape to the more 
abstract ideas or principles, and thus name them.* 



• " But although at first the intellect be but a passive and dor- 
mant faculty, it is there, and it is the sole clue wherewith we dis- 
entangle the myriad raveled intricacy of sensuous impressions, 
and thus the senses become the gateways of knowledge ; and a 
man born without the capacity for external sensations would also 
be of necessity soulless and mindless, because, though not the 
Single source of all our thoughts and faculties, the senses are yet 
the necessary condition of their development. Thus it is that 
the senses, during the earliest days of man's existence, act the 
part of nursing mothers to the soul, to which afterwards they 
become the powerful and obedient handmaids. They are the or- 
gans of communion between man and the outer world; they 
place him en rapport with it, uniting man to the universe, and 
men to one another. Thus they baptise man as a member of 
the moral and physical cosmos, and awaken thereby the intellect, 
which would otherv. i infructuose, like an tin quickened 

seed." Farrar, 



164 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

In the early progress of language, the imagination 
was predominant at every step. Nothing was too 
small, nothing too great, for it to exercise itself 
upon. The busy and wandering soul attributed a 
portion of its own life to every object surrounding 
it, and it seemed impossible to regard any thing 
as entirely without life. To many ancient nations, 
"the earth itself," says Farrar, "was a living 
creature ; the stars were divine animals ; and the 
very rainbow lived, and drank the dew." 

In the Scriptures we find remarkable instances of 
personification, arising from the vivid imagination 
so apparent in the olden languages. These tenden- 
cies of early language to attribute an active life to 
surrounding nature, and a sympathy with the joys 
and sorrows of man, are reproduced by the poetic 
instincts within us, and find their expression in our 
language of poetry ; but, in the ordinary uses of 
speech, we are no longer under the dominion of 
the imagination and fancy. 

Metaphors and figures, which gave so much pict- 
uresqueness to early language, are, in too many 
cases, comparatively lost in the refinement of style 
attending civilization. They belong now almost ex- 
clusively to the poet. In Shakespeare, eminently 
our poet of nature and imagination, the metaphors 
crowd upon each other with such richness and pro- 
fusion that he has even been reproached for such 
luxuriance ; but it is this that makes the glory 
of his style ; it is this that appeals to every heart 
still alive to the sweet kinship between man and 
nature, that, for our own pleasure and happiness, 



Development of Langauge. 165 

should never be lost sight of in our communication 
with each other. Metaphor is universal in language ; 
and, in the more ancient tongues, such as the He- 
brew and the Arabic, the sway of fancy and imagina- 
tion is to be seen in words, "each of which, " says 
Farrar, "is a picture, whose colors are still bright 
and clear." But as civilization advances, and the 
more extensive and frequent intercourse among men 
renders clearness of style, in signifying their mean- 
ing to each other, the chief object of attention, the 
fancy which gave birth to a word is forgotten, the 
picturesque coloring which gave it meaning in its 
birth is lost, and the word too often is allowed, by 
ignoring its imitative origin, to become a mere ar- 
bitrary symbol, having no connection with the thing 
it represents, save that established by custom and 
use. We are all constantly using, in the most or- 
dinary employments of language, metaphors and 
other figures, of which we are unconscious, that 
had their poetic origin when the imagination of 
man was more active. One of the characters in a 
well-known French comedy is surprised to learn 
that he has been talking prose all his life without 
being aware of it. A glimpse into first use of 
words and phrases may surprise some of us still 
more by the discovery that we have been talking 
poetry all our lives without knowing it. Indeed, 
it is a necessary matter for the artistic reader to 
discover this poetic element, if he would give to 
language its full force, fervor, and power, when the 
requirements of his author's language demand such 
expression. 



1 66 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

To sum up briefly Sheridan's masterly views on 
the subject of the development of speech, he states 
that by the growth of language through the intel- 
ligence of man, and the more active exercise of 
his higher faculties, the mere animal rudeness of 
natural sounds became modified by their association 
with the conventional forms, and new vocal beau- 
ties and graces were consequently developed ; but 
that, through all these changes, the natural signifi- 
cance of the sounds of the voice has been largely 
preserved. 

Herbert Spencer expresses the same idea in his 
treatment of the subject, showing that, while the 
higher intelligence has refined upon the simplicity 
of nature, making the forms of communication be- 
tween men more complex and comprehensive than 
in the beginning, still the natural language of sound 
retains, through all changes, its original attributes. 

Sheridan assumes that in the transition stages of 
a language, from the early natural sounds to the 
polished utterance of high civilization, the tones of 
the voice were, out of caprice and a natural love 
of variety amongst mankind, given fantastic, and 
hence unmeaning, forms ; which tones, in the fur- 
ther progress of intelligence and judgment, gave 
way, in their turn, to the original expression of 
nature ; chastened and modified, however, by the 
many affecting influences of civilization or cosmo- 
politan intercourse, but still having as much, if not 
more, vocal significance than the original language. 
He accounts in this way for the peculiarities of 
intonation to be found with people of different 



Development of Language. 167 

provinces of the same country, who, when fused 
into one society at any center, lose their peculiar- 
ities of habit in vocal utterance, and return, more 
or less nearly, to the simplicity of nature. Be this 
as it may, a practical observation can not but as- 
sure one of the fact that in the sounds of the voice, 
or the vocal signs, in the language of civilization, lies 
the vivifying, active principle ever accompanying the 
signs of the intelligence, and equally, if not more 
vividly, descriptive of the varying states of the 
mind. 

Gummere, whom we have already mentioned as 
being an able writer on the Rush philosophy, has 
the following apt remarks illustrative of this point: 

"Those who speak the English language use a certain set 
of sounds to communicate any idea, while the French, the 
. c vanish, or the Germans will not only use different sounds 
from ours to convey the same idea or thought, but each 
will use different sounds from all the others. The language 
of emotion or passion does not thus vary according to the 
nationality of the speaker. If you hear a person' speaking 
under the influence of emotion, such as sorrow, anger, or 
scorn, you have no difficulty in recognizing that emotion, al- 
though you may not understand a word that he utters 

We must therefore conclude that the languge of emotion is 
co-extensive with our species." 

So, language becomes, in an advanced stage of 
development, such as our own represents to-day, 
equally an exponent of intelligence, of feeling, and 
of imagination. The tendency of our education 
seems to be to consider it chiefly as the vehicle 
of intelligence, but we can not fail to see that by 
so doing we are ignoring the vitalizing and spirit- 



1 68 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ualizing essence which was first breathed into it 
from the heart and imagination of man. We are 
still nearer to the language of nature than we re- 
alize, even in the most polished and elegant of 
tongues. The bond which unites the feeling, the 
imagination, and the intelligence into one irresisti- 
ble power in the living spoken language, is too 
vital a matter to be ignored in the development 
of its full perfections, and too strong a tie ever to 
be severed in any language spoken by a race of 
intelligent, imaginative, and emotional beings. As 
a proof of the last assertion we have but to in- 
stance the utter failure on record of those who 
have attempted from the stand-point of intellect 
alone to invent a philosophical or purely arbitrary 
language, appealing only to the intelligence, as in 
the case of Bishop Wilkins, Leibnitz, and others. 



Chapter III. 

Significance of Sounds. 

Rush tells us that it is "the union of an arbi- 
tral}- verbal designation of a state of mind with its 
natural vocal sign, that constitutes the true and 
essential means of expression in speech." As each 
word therefore is indicative of some idea, so each 
vocal sound accompanying its utterance has also 
a special significance of its own. Every idea, emo- 
tion, or thought having its generic vocal sign, — a 
level line of sound has its peculiar meaning ; a leap 
of the voice, either in altitude or depression, has 
its own signification ; a wave of the voice, either 
in the graceful flow of its movements or its swell- 
ing fullness of sound, has its varying degrees of 
expressive effects. An abruptness of voice has a 
meaning of its own ; a prolonged loudness has a 
certain fitness ; a vocality of continued softness pos- 
sesses a purpose of its own. Slowness and rapid- 
ity of utterance are opposite effects of extreme 
conditions ; fullness and force of sound are equally 
so. All of these and other natural modifications 
of vocality, Rush has clearly described and classi- 
fied under the heads, or divisions, of Force, Time. 

Pitch. Abruptness, and Quality, which include all 
p. s. L— 15. 109 j 



1 70 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

the forms and modifications of the vocal concrete, 
and which will be fully explained hereafter. 

The conventional form of words, as Sheridan's 
analysis of their constituent elements may have 
suggested, has much to do with their power to 
take on the various natural attributes of expression 
embodied in the varieties of the above forms, as 
the student will be better able to realize after a 
careful study into the individual elements which go 
to make up syllables and words. 

A glance again into the intimate connection be- 
tween the sound and the sense, in their articulative 
formation, will give a general explanation of this, 
and a specific realization will come to the student, 
as we have said, after he has mastered the varied 
forms of expression in stress, pitch, etc., and is 
able to see how words are adapted by their pecul- 
iar, articulative form, to take on their specifically 
appropriate modes of expressive vocality. 

He will find that the forms of audible language 
take their impressive character from the peculiar 
and appropriate actions of the organs by which 
they are uttered, as well as from the state of mind 
or of feeling which they are intended to represent. 
The English language, from its abundance of Saxon 
elements, whose origin bespeaks a simple and child- 
like imitation of nature, contains many evidences 
of the tendency to represent our ideas by their re- 
semblance in sound. The resemblances in the 
Latin and French elements of our language, having 
been more subject to the modifying influences of 
time, are less obvious. The native force and fresh- 



Significance of Sounds. 171 

ncss of the Saxon is exemplified, however, by a 
wide range of words whose sounds correspond in 

vivid analogy to the ideas and feelings they repre- 
sent. 

All emotions which arc recognized as calm, quiet, 
gentle, tender, winning, or melting, find their nat- 
ural expression in softened, prolonged, and flowing 
sounds devoid of all semblance of force. In Dry- 
den's Ode we have an illustration of this in the 
lines : 

"Softly sweet in Lydian measures 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures"; 

and Milton's well-known and beautiful numbers : 
"With many a bout of linked sweetness long drawn out." 

These passages tell with a soothing effect upon 
the ear and heart, which make us regard the charm 
of vocal sound as akin to magic itself. The tran- 
quil and gentle emotions in their enunciation glide 
softly to the ear upon prolonged vowel quantities, 
and liquid consonants. In the utterance of harsh 
and abrupt emotions we perceive, on the other 
hand, the instinctive tendency of speech to assume 
a corresponding harshness and abruptness in its ex- 
pressive elements. Thus, when the poet of the 
Seasons describes the downfall of the oak, the 
monarch of trees, he represents it as 

"Rustling, crackling, crashing, thundering down." 

Fierce, angry passion seems to choose, by some 
subtle law of instinct, harshness in its elements to 
give a corresponding fierce effect to its utterance. 



i 72 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

The words of heroic ardor in the almost fierce in- 
tensity of command burst forth in such passages as : 
"Down, down! your lances down! 
Bear back both friend and foe!" 

The character of action is suggested in such 
words as heaving, swaying, prancing, darting, lag- 
ging, twittering, glancing, glowing, glittering, frit- 
tering, quick, cut, crawl, bawl, plunging, etc.; 
splashing, stuttering, spattering, clatter, etc. Pas- 
sion or emotion is expressed in words like brawl- 
ing, braggart, hence, avaunt, dastard, begone, blast- 
ing, blighting, blistering, hateful, spiteful, wicked, 
go, dare, dart, break, etc. A gentle expression 
seems naturally to belong to such words as softly, 
calmly, slowly, meekly, sweetly, mildly, smoothly, 
gently, lowly, lovely, lingering, graceful, love, ten- 
derness, etc. Calm quietude breathes in such ut- 
terances as balm, peace, dream, stream, hope, 
mercy, murmur, melancholy, etc. Grief expresses 
itself to the ear as readily as to the mind through 
the medium of such words as alas ! oh ! ah ! woe, 
groan, weeping, wailing, woeful, sobbing, warning, 
wasted, etc. Joy and triumph cry out in huzza ! 
ha, ha ! hurrah ! It also makes itself felt in such 
words as gladly, gaily, gleeful, brightly, etc. Then 
we have words exemplifying bold and forcible ut- 
terance, as: big, brag, stab, bad, brave, dread, 
dive, thunder, drive, dare, do. Quickness or rapid- 
ity of movements, as: brisk, frisk, quick, bit, wit, 
pat, rash, rapid, vivid, torrent, etc. Sublimity of 
emotion, as : grand, growl, bald, hurl, hold, bold, 
brand, dive, die, dead, dread, dared, etc. 



Significance of Sounds, 1 75 

The effect produced upon the imagination by 
language is largely due to these vocal resemblances, 
and the most skillful of our poets are indebted to 
them for their most celebrated passages ; the lan- 
guage of true poetry berng ever the language of 
nature. An article from Johnson's Rambler on the 
subject of "Sound to Sense," says, with regard to 
this felicitous use of words by writers : 

"The adumbration of particular and distinct images, by an 
exact and perceptible resemblance of sounds, is sometimes 
studied and sometimes casual. Every language has many 
words formed in imitation of the noises which they signify. 
Such are stridor, valo, and bcatus, in Latin; and in English, 
to grow?, to buzz, to Jiiss, and to jar. Words of this kind 
give to a verse the proper similitude of sound without much 
labor of the writer, and such happiness is therefore to be at- 
tributed rather to fortune than to skill." 

Should it not be attributed to the poetic gift 
which instinctively recognizes and seizes upon the 
sounds most appropriate for expressive purposes ?* 
He continues: 

"Yet they are sometimes combined, with great propriety, 
and undeniably contribute to enforce the impression of the 
idea. We hear the passing arrow in this line of Virgil: 

"'Th' impetuous arrow whizzes on the wing,' — 

and the creaking of Hell-gates, in the description by Milton ; 

"'Open fly, with impetuous recoil and jarring sound, 
The infernal gates, and on their hinges grate 
Harsh thunder.'" 



* " Poetry reproduces the original process of the mind in which 
language originates. The coinage of words is the primitive poem 
of humanity, and the imagery of poetry or oratory is only pos- 
sible and effective because it is a continuation of that primitive 

process which is itself a reproduction of creation." Bunsvn. 



1 74 ^ Plea for Spoken Language. 

The following is a familiar example from the 
same author: 

"Arms on armour clashing brayed 
Horrible discord; and the madding wheels 
Of brazen fury raged." 

We have also an equally vivid sound picture of 
another kind in the following lines of the same 
author : 

"And heaven opened wide 
Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound, 
On golden hinges turning." 

Again, the following lines from the "Voice of 
Music " (by Mrs. Hemans), illustrate the wonder- 
ful adaptation of the word forms to express a pict- 
ure of the idea: 

"Thine is the lay that lightly floats, 
And mine are the murmuring, dying notes 
That fall as soft as snow on the lea, 
And melt in the heart as instantly."* 

In the following impressive description by Thom- 
son, we readily perceive the effort made by the 
poet's mind to reproduce, in vocal sound or forms, 
the ideas of force and sublimity embodied in a con- 
templation of the storm : 

'"Tis listening Fear, and dumb amazement all; 
When to the startled eye, the sudden glance 
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud ; 



*The expressive character of poetic numbers, as will be seen 
later in Sheridan's treatment of the verse, is effected by the pe- 
culiar succession of sound in the metrical arrangement, as much 
as by the individual character of the words themselves. 



Significance of Sounds. 175 

And, following slower, in explosion fast 
The thunder raises his tremendous voice. 
At first, heard solemn, o'er the verge of heaven 
The tempest growls; but as it nearer comes, 
And rolls its awful burthen on the wind, 
The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more 
The noise astounds; till over head a sheet 
Of vivid flame discloses wide, then shuts 
And opens wider ; shuts and opens still 
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze, 
' Follows the loosened aggravated roar, 
Enlarging, deep'ning, ming'ling peal on peal, 
Crashed horrible, convulsing heaven and earth." 

We have spoken before of a tendency to grow 
away from the original imaginative and expressive 
forms of utterance in our ordinary careless language 
of daily intercourse. The changes by which the 
significance of sound in words has been so greatly 
disguised as to be scarcely distinguishable, do not 
consist alone in the various modifications of their 
original forms in the different languages, but also 
in the quick clipping modes of their utterance in 
ordinary speech, by which the value of the vocal 
elements that compose them is largely ignored. It 
is only by a return to the emotional language of 
nature, as it is often exemplified in the speech of 
children, before they have caught the artificialities 
of those surrounding them, that we are able to dis- 
cover the power and meaning of which the imita- 
tive sounds of words are capable. These imitations 
may be followed through all the various forms that 
words have assumed in different languages, and when 
the>- are brought out and made prominent by means 
of the intonations and perfected enunciations of ex- 



i J 6 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

pressive speech, they give a power and beauty to 
words which are entirely lost in the familiar, and 
what may be termed pinched up, utterance of those 
who, following the general tendency of the day, 
study words rather as printed symbols for the eye 
than as sound pictures, if I may so call them, for 
the ear. Let us take, for instance, the word break, 
as it is usually pronounced. The imitative sound 
which gives it so much vigor and expression is 
lost; but if it is uttered with the full oral effect of 
which it is capable, the imitative character becomes 
at once apparent. Now if you will trace this word 
break through the many different forms given to it 
by the spirit of different languages (and this can 
readily be done by simply turning to it in Web- 
ster's quarto dictionary), you will find the same 
clearly distinguishable imitation in all of them, 
when they are pronounced in a full and impressive 
manner, and with a proper observance of the hold- 
ing power of their articulative construction. In 
giving attention to the sound power of words, 
however, as an expression or suggestion of their 
sense, one thing must be observed in this regard 
and strictly complied with in the practice of the 
student of elocution, and that is, to resist the ten- 
dency to carry such imitations to extremes. The old 
axiom, that there is but one step from the sublime 
to the ridiculous, may be well applied in this con- 
nection. Thus, on the stage, the low comedian 
often makes use of this exaggerated, imitative ex- 
pression to heighten his comic effects. 

The idea, then, of adapting sound to sense in 



Significance of Sounds. i yy 

the utterance of imitative words (especially fashion- 
able at present), must by all means receive such a 
modification of its accepted literal significance as 
that embodied in the remark of Sheridan on this 
point, that the sound used in the utterance of such 
words should be a suggestive comment merely on 
the meaning, rather than a mechanical imitation. 
For example, the words buzz, hum, rattle, hiss, 
jar, are obviously imitative words, but their sounds 
inappropriately exaggerated, would only occasion 
ludicrous associations of the idea. Words, as we 
have seen, receive their expressive sound-power, 
not only from their articulative construction, but 
from the vocal form and character accompanying 
this articulated utterance in the intonation, quality, 
and other vocal attributes of all syllabic sounds ; 
but, as we have before suggested, these two elements 
of expression a?r elosely dependent upo?i each other, 
since the peculiar articulation or elemental arrangement 
of a word determines, in great measure, its capabili- 
ties for taking on the various appropriate, expressive 
powers of intonation and its attendant modifications * 
The reader or orator, then, must learn to com- 
bine the different appropriate sounds that give ex- 
pression to the emotions with the verbal forms of 
his language in such a manner as not only to pre- 
sent a full and clear meaning of these words to 
the minds of his hearers, but also to awaken a 



♦Sheridan, in speaking of the capabilities of expression in a 
large number of words in our language, says: "Whoever will 
examine such words closely will find that every letter in them 
contributes to their expressive power." 



178 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

lively and active sympathy with the various feelings 
or passions they express. The demand upon the 
elocutionist is therefore imperative for a fitting adap- 
tation of his tones to the spirit of the language of 
which he becomes the vocal interpreter. The appli- 
cation of art in giving expressive vocality to words 
is, then, so to speak, to clothe them in their most 
appropriate and descriptive sound colors ; and this 
tone-shading in speech is very consistently described 
by the phrase, "word-painting." Without insist- 
ing, then, upon words being made an echo to the 
sense in every case, we do affirm that there are 
circumstances in speech, under strong emotion or 
passion, especially where the subject is poetic, when 
the speaker is required to give some imitation of 
the characteristic qualities, in action or condition, 
of the objects or ideas his words are intended to 
represent. In such cases, the taste and trained 
skill of the artistic reader or speaker will enable 
him to produce an echo to the sense without mar- 
ring his effects by an excessive material effort of 
imitation, thus lowering the matter to mere mim- 
icry. 

We have simply taken the preliminary and some- 
what cursory view of this subject, for the purpose 
of leading the mind of the reader to reflect upon 
the full value of sound in the expression of lan- 
guage, and of its intimate connection with the va- 
rious mental and emotional conditions of mankind ; 
and also to impress him with the importance of a 
correct and appreciative knowledge of those ex- 
pressive movements of the voice by which nature, 



Significance of Sounds. i 79 

with such graphic power, distinguishes all the vari- 
ous feelings and emotions that accompany our men- 
tal operations. To dissect, study, and recombine 
these natural vocal movements, are the means by 
which the student of elocution may be enabled to 
avail himself of all the impressive effects of oral 
function in reproducing his own thoughts, or read- 
ing those of others. These properties of the voice 
may not be caught in their full perfection solely by 
the mere inspiration of genius, nor by the imita- 
tion of some favorite speaker. It is only by taking 
nature as a guide and studying the revelations she 
has made that we may follow, through art, the dif- 
ferent expressive effects she has supplied. Although 
in many cases it has been denied that these subtle 
vocal agencies can be measured in natural speech, 
it has been made manifest to our intelligence that 
they were both conceived and executed by man in 
his infancy, and made the basis of the whole art 
of language. We certainly ought, then, to be able 
to so far perceive and study such sounds as to re- 
produce them in the utterance of the words to 
which they gave birth and character. Dr. Rush's 
systematized mode of elementary and syllabic anal- 
ysis takes us back, as the careful student will learn, 
to the very beginning of speech, and carries us, by 
progressive study, through all the various modes of 
oral expression, until we finally attain a full knowl- 
edge and command of the various shades and nice- 
ties of tone and emphasis that give power and ef- 
fect to spoken language, thus enabling us to repro- 
duce, by means of art, a faithful transcript of all 



1 80 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

those unmistakable and significant modes of expres- 
sion by which nature portrays the various inner 
workings of the soul. 

It is most probable that the Greeks and Romans 
were acquainted with these vocal elements, for with- 
out their study they could never have attained that 
wonderful degree of excellence in oratory for which 
they have been so distinguished. It must be sup- 
posed that, with that true insight into nature which 
characterized them in their studies of art, they 
made themselves masters of expressive speech by 
an analytic measurement of all its varied forms of 
sound. 

But sound, unlike the productions of sculpture 
and painting, is evanescent as the dew. The classic 
languages are dead because their tones, that which 
constituted their soul, are lost forever. Let us, 
then, set to work in earnest to supply the defi- 
ciency. The materials are around us. Our per- 
ceptive faculties are as quick and penetrating as 
those which existed before us ; our industry, pro- 
verbial ; and our enterprise, surely as great. Then 
let us be willing to learn those good things which 
others found it possible to acquire in the school of 
nature, and by which they made their own schools 
produce such results as helped to create the Greek 
and Roman glory. Let the student of elocution 
be, above all, the student of nature. Let him listen 
to her voice as expressed in his own untrammeled 
utterance of emotion and passion ; study the notes 
of the birds and the tones of the animals around 
him, listen to the manv voices of the winds and 



Significance of Sounds. 181 

waters, until his ear becomes familiar with all known 
sounds, and his heart attuned to the vocal beauties 
of nature, and thus learn how they all conform to 
the laws of natural expression. He will find many 
of these sounds in nature are tunable, — that is, 
musical, — while others are untunable, or merely 
noisy. An opportunity for the observation of such 
sounds may be had, for example, at a wharf where 
ships are moored during a storm. There let any 
one stand and listen as the wind whistles through 
the rigging and shrouds, then contrast the shrieking 
pitch of such sounds with the loud blow of the 
steam pipe ; the groaning of the ponderous timbers 
of the wharf chafed by the weighty vessels ; the 
angry splashing of the waves breaking against the 
many obstructions ; the clatter and clanking of 
chains ; the complaining of cables strained to their 
utmost tension. Again, let him stand on the sea- 
beach near to some bold promontory, and his ear 
will be filled with sounds of another kind, — the 
heavy boom of the tempestuous sea; the swollen 
tide as it falls crashing on the beach ; the thunder 
and roar of waves as they hurl themselves against 
or sweep over opposing rocks. In such concerts 
as these, which nature invites us to hear and ad- 
mire, we may recognize the voices of grief and pain ; 
the vocal signs of petulance — fretting and moaning; 
the hurtling sounds of anger, rage, and ferocity ; 
and the deep, loud vocality of awe, sublimity, and 
grandeur. 

In reading, it requires the skill of an artist who 
has studied his subject in detail to be able to em- 



1 8 2 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ploy the vocal signs corresponding to the verbal 
forms which express the ever-changing states of 
mind represented in the language he assumes. Yet, 
how often do we observe in the tones of an un- 
trained speaker's voice an indiscriminate employ- 
ment of certain vocal signs where there is no war- 
rant for their especial use in the matter he is 
enunciating, with no other definite or intelligent 
purpose than what arises from a vague notion of 
the necessity for a variety of vocal effects. In our 
unpremeditated or spontaneous utterance, the vocal 
signs expressive of the changes from one state of 
mind to the other are born, so to speak, simul- 
taneously with the verbal form ; but, in reproduc- 
ing the language of another, the most consummate 
skill is necessary to reproduce the ever-changing 
variety of tone, or, in other words, to employ, 
with perfect naturalness of effect, vocal signs ap- 
propriate to the natural expression of such language. 
By introducing a mere unmeaning variety — that is, 
by employing vocal signs for verbal signs of an 
entirely opposite character — do many speakers and 
readers confound all the real vocal distinctions of 
language and the varied shades of thought and 
feeling. It must be apparent, then, that a study 
of such expressive agencies in their individual char- 
acter is absolutely necessary in order to apply them 
in their true significance in the combined effects 
of artistic speech, just as the painter must become 
familiar with the primary colors, and then with their 
combined effects in light and shade, before he can 
portray in their combinations a true counterfeit of 



Significance of Sounds. [83 

nature. Such a knowledge of the vocal signs as 
discipline and industry, close observation and faith- 
ful practice will give can not be overestimated, since, 
as the reader will not fail to see, from the view 
we have had of the close connection between the 
varying states of the human mind and their ex- 
pression in vocal sound and verbal forms, it must 
constitute the master key to the true art of elocu- 
tion. 

Before passing on to a specific view of the sub- 
ject as treated by the author who has made a de- 
tailed study of these vocal signs of thought and 
passion a possible matter, it would be as well to 
have his position with regard to the subject clearly 
defined in his own words, and thus, perhaps, to 
remove a misconception which is apt to be enter- 
tained concerning the apparently unlimited extent 
of such a study. He tells us, and demonstrates 
the fact, also, that each natural or instinctive vocal 
sign, represented by certain forms of stress, time, 
quality, pitch, etc., is used in its various degrees 
to indicate more than one state of mind, since 
words or verbal signs, as descriptive agents, are 
more numerous — being the result of the growth 
of intelligence — and thus that many of these states 
generically represented by the same natural sign, 
have their specific difference marked by the artifi- 
cial sign or conventional language that describes 
them. He says: 

" By the use, then, of a comparatively limited number of 
vocal signs, together with the assistant means of conventional 
language, the apparently infinite forms of expression in speeeli 



1 84 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

are produced. A specification of these signs and numerical 
limitations of the terms of their nomenclature, at once afford 
an observer the means to survey, through the composure of 
a classifying reflection, the whole extent of this supposed in- 
finity, and thereby to change a vulgar and distracting won- 
der at immensity into an intelligent admiration of the obvi- 
ous combinations and endless interminable variety of a few 
distinguishable constituents." 

He then adds, and we can not better close this 
general review of this phase of the subject than by 
these words: 

"He who has a knowledge of the constituents of speech, 
and of their powers and uses, is the potential master of the 
science of elocution, and he must then derive from his ear, 
his sense of propriety, and his taste the means of actually 
applying it with success." 



Jfctrl W&< 



Elocution as a Fine Art. 



P. S T, -16. 



(185) 



Chapter I. 

Popular Errors Regarding Elocution. 

Before entering upon a detailed consideration of 
the vocal signs of thought and passion, and their 
varieties of expression in the utterances of speech, 
which constitute a large part of the working ma- 
terial for the study of the true art of spoken lan- 
guage, it has seemed to me expedient to meet 
some erroneous ideas and objections which have 
long been, and still are, advanced by many concern- 
ing the matter of a disciplined and artistic study 
of elocution, — ideas and objections which, judging 
from the similar attitude of the public mind toward 
all subjects that have not been thoroughly investi- 
gated, and hence, in many cases, unfairly repre- 
sented, are founded more upon a certain popular 
prejudice than upon a plain, rational, and unbiased 
view of existing facts. 

I think I am perfectly safe in stating that it is 
affirmed by a large class of thinking people, and 
even by persons of influence in educational matters, 
that the ability to read and speak well is a special, 
natural gift, bestowed only upon certain favored 
individuals. The "natural reader" is, therefore, 
supposed to be endowed with the capacity to ex- 

(187) 



1 88 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ercise the functions of expressive, premeditated 
speech, without especial study or preparation ; to 
deal spontaneously, as it were, with his subject- 
matter, the intellectual and emotional attributes of 
which often require it to be lifted to the highest 
plane of dramatic delineation or oratorical eloquence. 
There needs no stronger corroboration of this state- 
ment than the fact before spoken of; namely, the 
modern tendency toward a contraction in didactic 
matter in our books of reading, which stands but 
as an acknowledgment of the belief that detailed 
and practical principles and rules of instruction in 
this branch of education are of but little avail. 

I have in my mind in this connection a charac- 
teristic example of this "natural reader" idea, con- 
tained in a reading book published by a popular 
reciter in Philadelphia a few years ago, boldly 
enunciating the theory that rules and principles 
were not only not necessary to make a reader, but 
rather stumbling-blocks in the way of the learner, 
and summing up the requirements of the latter in 
substance, as nearly as I can remember, as follows : 

"The selections contained in this book abound in fitting 
expressions of thought, emotion, and passion, and, as such, 
are calculated to excite in the reader corresponding feelings; 
all, then, that remains for him is to enter fully and strongly 
into the spirit of the language, and deliver the words as if 
they were his own, expressing them in such tones as he 
would use himself were he in the same position as the per- 
sonage represented by the author." 

The extreme simplicity and "naturalness" of such 
instructions may be well placed with the profound 



Popular Errors. 189 

ertion of Dogberry that, "to be a well-favored 
man is the gift of fortune, but to read and write 
comes by nature." And yet we have grave au- 
thorities for this same theory. 

This oft-repeated injunction to make the language 
your own and then utter it naturally, is, however, 
by no means wrong in itself, but, on the contrary, 
is, in its full significance, as we shall see hereafter, 
an epitome of all the requirements of the most 
studious and artistic reader. But, taken as consti- 
tuting the sum of instruction, it is no more a key 
to the end desired than the title page of a book 
to the detail of its contents. It contains simply a 
statement of something to be accomplished which 
involves all that is to be effected in reading, and, 
moreover, the necessity of a knowledge how to do 
it. To expect a person to be guided by such a 
direction alone toward excellence in reading would 
be as logical as to state a difficult proposition in 
arithmetic or geometry, involving all the principles 
of mathematics, and then require the student to 
solve it without any previous instruction in those 
principles. In other words, it is simply offering 
as a rule to guide one to a desired end that which 
is only the result arising from principles properly 
applied. 

In the first place, to enter into the author's 
thoughts and make them one's own, means not 
only an apprehension through the intelligence o( 
the sense conveyed by the grammatical structure 
of the language, but a further apprehension of 
the feeling, passion, and imagination which led 



190 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

to its creation, and of which it is the tangible ex- 
pression. This must necessarily imply a close and 
analytic study of the written forms, not only with 
the searching power of the intellect, but with that 
of the heart and imagination. This accomplished, 
what remains? By far the most difficult part — ''to 
express it," we are told, "as if it were our own, 
naturally." 

"To be natural" means, of course, to employ 
such vocal signs or modes of expression as nature 
has invariably assigned to certain states of the 
mind for the expression of the language which is 
the exponent of such mental conditions, — since it 
has been established that the ordinary tones and 
movements of the voice which we employ in our 
intercourse, either in simple, unimpassioned com- 
munication, or the more earnest vocal forms pecul- 
iar to argument, narrative, vivid description, or 
passion, are the gifts of nature, formed original!}', 
as we have seen, upon the inarticulate voices of 
primitive man. 

But can being natural, in the absence of the im- 
mediate impulse of instinct, be other than being 
able to imitate successfully the same vocal means 
we would employ to produce a corresponding un- 
premeditated utterance? And can such means be 
successfully imitated, in all their manifold variety, 
unless the reader be consciously aware of them, 
and possess a control of them at will ? Rush says : 

"In looking for a rule of excellence in the art of elocution, 
we are always referred, as in the other fine arts, to nature. 
But nature is. when shut out from the light of analysis, an 



Popular Errors, 191 

unassignable pattern But it is the belief of those who 

can not perceive the application of analysis and precept to 
elocution that the power consists in the wonder-working of 
•genius,' and in proprieties and graces beyond the reach of 
art. So seem the plainest services of arithmetic to a savage, 
and so to the slave seem all the ways of music, which mod- 
ern art has so accurately penned as to time and tune and 

momentary grace 

"Now genius, as it appears from its productions, is only an 
unusual aptitude for that broad, reflective, combining, and 
persevering observation which perceives and readily accom- 
plishes more than is done without it, and is, therefore, in its 
purposes and uses, not altogether removed beyond a submis- 
sion to knowledge and rule." 



Thus admitting that even genius needs the aid 
of art toward the full development of its powers, 
how much more are those dependent upon art's 
enlightening assistance who are not possessed of 
transcendent gifts ! 

As before suggested, every thing in reading will 
depend primarily upon the ability of the mind to 
perceive and realize the author's meaning, not only 
in the root, as it were, of the ideas and sentiments, 
but also in the various modifications and qualifica- 
tions which spring from and cluster round the 
main current of thought and feeling. When the 
reader has fully conceived and mastered the text 
mentally, then, how much depends upon what may 
be called the simply physical ability to deal with 
it in natural utterance. Just in proportion to the 
reader's ability to vary and intensify his modes of 
expressive utterance in consonance with nature's 
own varied methods ^\ appropriate expression for 



192 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

her thoughts and feelings, will his effects be com- 
mensurate with the demands of an intelligent and 
demonstrative interpretation of the author's lan- 
guage. For it must be plain that, if the exact and ap- 
propriate expressive vocal character of the thoughts, 
emotions, and passions be not given to the words 
by which they are represented, the reader must 
fail in transferring the workings of the mind and 
soul of one intelligence to another. The sounds of 
the spoken language can in such case only serve 
to obscure the thought and to deaden the spirit of 
the written language, which it is their real province 
to illuminate and vivify. The undisciplined effort 
to be natural in reading, without knowing just how 
to go about it, further than to enter into a sort 
of general understanding of the feeling to be ex- 
pressed, results, in the majority of cases, in the 
formality of a certain "reading tone," unlike any 
expression of nature or of art, — a tone which be- 
comes, through custom, confirmed by the unreflect- 
ing habit of treating expression, as one may say, 
"in the lump. ' 

Who has not frequently been struck with the 
pretentious, not to say pompous, display made by 
some uncultured aspirant for elocutionary honors, 
in reading "naturally" from a newspaper, the 
mixed material of a narrative, dramatic, and descrip- 
tive character, contained in the report of some ex- 
citing article of the day? And can we not all call 
to mind the chanting or droning sentimentalism of 
the "natural" reading of some favorite poem, or, 
as a more familiar matter, the reading-tone by which 



Popular Errors* 193 

the language of some inspired hymn has fallen 
upon the ear in sounds calculated to banish all 
Sentiment or feeling suggested by the words? 

There is nothing could put the difficulty of reading prop- 
erly in a stronger light to any man than his attempting to 
read aloud a scene of a comedy; in which, though there are 
no tones to be used but what are known to him, and which 
he acknowledges as such when used by others, yet can he 
by no means command them at his pleasure; and he must 
be obliged to own that to conceive and to execute are two 
different things." — Sheridan. 

In allusion to the precept before stated, and so 
often proposed as the key to natural expression in 
reading, Rush justly observes: 

"Teachers have sometimes varied their old and imperfect 
rule of teaching by imitation, to something like the system 
of nature, as they think, by requiring their pupil not to imi- 
tate another, but figuratively, as it were, to imitate himself. 
Such a direction, in assuming to be the rule for a just and 
effective elocution, only requires a pupil to speak as he 
pleases; — that is, as his own particular ideas prompt him, — 
for, by the direction, he is to make the ideas of the author 
his own; but having, as implied by the necessity of the di- 
rection, no previous rule, be is left to utter them only as he 
pleases, by an assumed rule of his own. I have more than 
once seen among aspirants of the stage the pitiable results 
of what was supposed to be a representation of the truth of 
nature by thus affecting to become identical." 

I low often, indeed, when the student undertakes 
to feel what he reads and read naturally, as the 
sole guide towards achieving the end of proper ex 
pression, does the following occur: He at once 
finds himself manufacturing such tones of utterance 

P S I..-17. 



194 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

(in remembrance, perhaps, of what he may have 
heard from the pulpit, stage, bar, or platform) as 
his imagination, entirely independent of judgment 
or previous training in the distinctive value of vo- 
cal sounds, leads him to suppose are suited to the 
subject. The excitement attendant upon the situa- 
tion carries him away, and his feelings, rushing on 
from point to point, compel him to an utterance 
in which all the various shades and outlines of 
emotion are blended into a confused mass, — or, 
more plainly, into one continuous tone, — and finally, 
after fatiguing his hearers, he concludes his discourse 
or composition with exhausted lungs and irritated 
throat, entirely unconscious of the process employed, 
save that he has felt his subject and tired Jiimself. 
And indeed, if such an unregulated and perverted 
use of the voice is persisted in for any length of 
time, the vocal organs become diseased, the lungs 
and bronchial tubes perhaps affected from their re- 
lationship to such disorganized members, and the 
citadel of life itself slowly but surely yields to such 
fatal encroachments. This is no exaggeration, as 
the many cases of broken health amongst men who 
are called upon to use their voices professionally, 
without previous training, will testify. 
Dr. Rush, speaking on this point, says: 

"Let us, however, suppose this rule of self-imitation might 
serve for commonplace ideas on every-day occasions. On 
the other hand, suppose the art of reading to be exerted in 
representing the utmost force and delicacy in dramatic char- 
acter and of imaginative creation by the poet. How, with 
the great crowd of mankind, will this rule of substitution meet 



Popular Errors. 195 

the case? .... It is a prevailing opinion that persons who 

speak their own states of mind in social intercourse always 
speak properly, and that transferring this 'natural manner,' 
as it is called, to formal reading, must insure this required 
natural propriety. This idea has arisen from ignorance of 
the functions which constitute the beauties and deformities 
of speech. Without a knowledge of causes and effects on 
these points, teachers have been obliged to refer to the 
spontaneous efforts of the voice as the only assistant means 
of instruction. Setting aside here what we might insist on, 
th.it no one should pretend to say what the right or natural 
manner is before he knows the principles that make it so, 
we will admit that the 'natural manner,' — or any body's man- 
ner, or, rather, no manner at all, from our being accustomed 
to it, and having, it may be, a fellow feeling with the faults, — 
is less exceptionable than the first attempts of the pupil in 
reading. Still, the faults of ordinary conversation are similar 
to those of reading, though they are less apparent. Perhaps 
the common opinion is grounded on the belief that a just 
execution must necessarily follow a full perception of the 
thought and passion of discourse, for these are supposed to 
accompany colloquial speech. No one indeed can read cor- 
rectly or with elegance if he does not both understand and 
feel, as it is called, what he utters; but these are not exclu- 
sively the means of success. There must be knowledge de- 
rived from peeping behind the eurtain of actual vocal deform- 
ity still hanging before the just and beautiful laws of speech, 
and there must be an organic faculty well prepared in the 
school of' those laics for the representation of thought and 
passion. Were it certain that this pretended 'natural m. in- 
ner' truly represents the proper system of vocal expression, 
we would no more require an art of elocution than an art of 
breathing; and the whole world, in reading and speaking, as 
in the act of respiration, would always accomplish its purp 
with a like instinctive perfection. Yet. far from uniformity, 
there are wide and innumerable differences in what now, 
with individuals and schools, pass for the proprieties, as will 
as in what are the acknowledged faults, of speech.*' 



196 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

There is one point, therefore, with regard to this 
theory of a "natural manner" which we should 
carefully consider; namely, that what we call nat- 
ural in the matter of unpremeditated speech is, after 
all, an acquirement with each individual, the result 
of life-long exercise of the organs of speech, where 
the intelligence, working with nature or under her 
promptings, produces habits which become appar- 
ently purely instinctive. Indeed, it is this power 
of progression beyond the merely animal cries that 
marks the intelligence of man as distinguishing him 
from the brutes, whose utterances, being the result 
of instinct alone, can not advance to those varied 
vocal acquisitions which accompany intelligent ar- 
ticulate communication. All the natural and seem- 
ingly -purely instinctive functions of the body that 
are subject to the will, though fashioned to certain 
uses, still await the training of education to adapt 
them to the purposes for which they are by nat- 
ure unquestionably fitted. The hands, feet, and 
limbs of the child are adapted to their several pur- 
poses by a slow process of education, and the anal- 
ogy holds throughout all the operations of the 
body, subject to the will, the organs of speech 
amongst the number. To quote Rush again : 

"Man's whole executive purposes are directed by his 
thoughts and passions, the same agents that direct his speech, 
and as far as history and well grounded conclusions inform 
us, the just designs of nature, in his moral, his political, and 
his vocal condition, were found to be already crossed or 
perverted when he first began to look into her laws and to 
turn an eye of philosophic inquiry and comparison on him- 
self." 



Popular Errors. 197 

The whole possibility of perfection or corruption 

of the art of elocution lies in this capability of 
education in the vocal organs, and the capacity 
for acquiring habits, good or bad, as they may 
be directed, either by earnest intelligence or self- 
satisfied and indifferent ignorance. Thus, many 
habits of utterance, though seemingly "natural," 
are in reality not natural, because they are the 
result of a violation of nature's laws of proper 
and complete utterance, for this latter is always 
and only that which accords with the most perfect 
functions of that vocal mechanism which nature 
has provided. This is plain from the fact that 
the voice is always strengthened and beautified by 
exercising it in the evident line of nature's intent. 
Sheridan says, in speaking of pronunciation, — and 
the remark applies with double force to intona- 
tion, — that it is an indisputable truth that the 
sounds which arc most easily uttered by the organs 
of speech are most pleasing to the organs of hearing, 
and that this is the very best rule by which the 
pronunciation of any language could be formed. 

"In speaking, as in other arts, the useful and agreeable 
air almost always found to coincide, and every real embel- 
lishment promotes and perfects the principal design." — 
Walker, 

"Thus instinct, even when dignified into genius, seems to 
he nothing more than an organization prepared by nature to 
receive the impression of directive causes, which, therefore, 
act necessarily to excite the organic power, limited as it may- 
be, and to exercise it to its end." — Rush. 

In coming to study the details of nature's laws, 
we are compelled to acknowledge the fact th.it : 



198 . A Plea for Spoken Langziage. 

"There are individual instances of vocal deformity pre- 
sented by 'nature' — with sacrilege, so called, — and daily suf- 
fered to pass without remark because we are engaged at the 
moment with other thoughts and designs, which we perceive 
only when the voice itself, as a subject of taste, is the exclu- 
sive object of reflective and discriminating attention." — Rush. 

Many persons also acquire, by different and va- 
rious means, certain habits of speech by no means 
natural in sound to the ear of persons unaccustomed 
to them, and which are but a misuse of vocal 
movements and forms of expression correct and 
agreeable in their own place or province, but mis- 
applied through the accidents of ignorance or care- 
lessness, or it may be caprice.* 

Another point to be considered in the matter of 
naturalness is that temperamental peculiarities beget, 
in the natural utterance, certain vocal peculiarities, 
and though these need not be faults of utterance, 
still they represent but one phase of a varied nat- 
ure, in addition to which is a large unconquered 
territory in the field of natural utterance, every 
inch of which the reader must be familiar with in 
order to be able to traverse it at his will in the 
representation of the varied expression common to 
all. To illustrate, — a dramatic reader must be able, 
in "making the language his own," and speaking 
it "naturally," to utter it in the manner natural, 
not to himself, but to the person of whose tem- 
perament and personal characteristics it is the ex- 



*To illustrate, — the circumflex movement of New England is 
certainly not a natural one, although custom has caused it to 
seem natural to those persons by whom it is heard daily. 



Popular Errors, 199 

pression, and tin's he will not be able to do with 
any degree of perfection until he learns how through 
an analysis and practical mastery of the true causes 
of varied natural effect. 

The evil of much that is false or imperfect in 
utterance, lies in the earliest education of children, 
where the visible sign, or skeleton of speech, is 
taught in the faith that the flesh and blood, or the 
vitality of sound in proper intonation, etc., will 
follow naturally ; and how does it follow ? Certainly 
not in accordance with the proprieties, melodies, and 
harmonies existing in the vocal attributes of nature, 
but too often through the example of those crude, 
slovenly modes of speech, those sharp, discordant 
qualities of voice, which jabber, scream, mumble, 
or mutter in the streets, the play-ground, and often 
in the home life, — those places where our children's 
voices are molded after the fashion of the vocal 
impressions which become familiar to their ears, 
and which, in so many cases, override or obscure 
the more delicate, tender, and agreeable forms of 
vocal expression. 

"Amongst those bred at the university, or at court, as well 
as amongst mechanics, or rustics; amongst those who speak 
in the senate house, pulpit, or at the bar, as well as amongst 
men in private life, we find stammerers, lispers, a mumbling, 
indistinct utterance; ill management of the voice, by pitching 
it in too high or too low a key; speaking too loud, or too 
softly as not to be heard; and using discordant tones, and 
false cadences. These being, I say, common to all ranks 
and classes of men, have not any marks of disgrace put 
apon them, hut, on the contrary, meet with general indul- 
gence from a general corruption." — Sheridan. 



200 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

Our feelings are no longer sufficiently simple and 
natural to distinguish the real without the help of 
a knowledge of these universal and unchangeable 
principles which, though they can neither create 
talent nor supply the place of it, can yet furnish 
it with aids, and with such aids we may avoid much 
that is false, though sometimes accepted as nature, 
and much that is injurious. 

"The practical ends of elocution, as an elegant art, are to 
convey our thoughts and passions, with truth, propriety, and 
taste, and consequently without the error and deformity of 
awkwardness or affectation. When, therefore, by analytic 
knowledge of the constituents of an art, principles or classi- 
fications of its facts for some effective purpose are framed, 
these principles become, as it were, the scientific instinct of 
the new and more complicated organization of the mind in 
its state of acquired knowledge; just as, in its own way, the 
original and more simple organization of nature exercises its 
limited and merely animal instinct." — Rush. 

To read naturally, therefore, must not consist in 
reproducing any mere accidents of expression, so 
to speak, but the ability on the part of the reader 
to draw from the great heart of nature that vocal 
power and meaning which thrills through language, 
universally recognized and always simple, appropri- 
ate, strong, and beautiful. 

This idea of expressing the language of an author 
"naturally" is, however, with a large class of peo- 
ple, interpreted to mean in the reader's familiar 
and colloquial manner of speech, — that is, in his 
usual or ordinary conversational mode or habit of 
expressing himself. The rule indeed is sometimes 
given, "Read as you talk." Assuming this familiar 



Popular Errors, 201 

utterance to be perfect of its kind, — that is, serving 
its own end faultlessly, — it can not even then meet 
all the requirements of a truly natural or appropri- 
ate expression in reading and oratory. In many 
respects, of course, a familiar, "natural" manner, 
as it is called, possesses claims upon our attention. 
Hut let it be remembered that, while suitable in 
certain forms of reading and speaking, such a style 
of utterance is not the language of exalted imagina- 
tion or heroic ideas. We must not only contem- 
plate, but reproduce, such language from the stand- 
point of one who conceived it in the white heat 
of inspiration, — the fervor and glow of kindled 
genius. We may, indeed, by uttering such lan- 
guage colloquially and familiarly, express ourselves 
in a manner natural to ourselves in the ordinary 
affairs of life, but it will certainly not be express- 
ing the author naturally. 

Docs not naturalness of effect in all expression 
mean a fitness or congruity, an adaptation of the 
proper means to the desired end? Admitting this, 
it must follow that, in order to be able to express 
the thoughts of a writer as if they were our own, 
implies, in many cases, the necessity of rising in 
our vocal utterance to modes and forms commen- 
surate with the beauty or grandeur of the ideas of 
the creative spirit, and the verbal mold into which 
they are cast, instead of dwarfing them into the 
familiar, the commonplace, and even the flippant. 
Poetry, for example, is the medium by which men 
seek to give utterance to fullness of feeling and 
emotion too great for the limited expressive effect 



202 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

of language in its ordinary every-day use. It is 
an attempt to excite a sympathetic realization of 
the sublime or the beautiful, in minds of a con- 
genial nature, by means of a figurative, exalted 
language, that soars above the regions of common- 
place expression required for the practical affairs 
of life. It is always suggestive, not literal. Its 
utterance, therefore, requires vocal modes which 
must excite in the mind of the hearer something 
beyond the impressions he receives in matter-of- 
fact recitals, or dry statements of mere intellectual 
comprehension. 

The tones employed in reading poetry must, 
therefore, be something more than the ordinary 
range of utterance, — the same in kind, but more ex- 
tended in degree. They must be natural, but yet 
in nature's happiest vein, her most elevated mode 
of expression. The same is true of the higher 
drama, of elevated prose, — in short, of all that 
language of genius and inspiration which represents 
the finer and nobler part of man. 

There is, unfortunately, a strong tendency in the 
drama, the public speaking, and the reading of the 
present day, to dwarf the ideal, the heroic, and 
the classic into a conformity with the limited in- 
terpretation of this term "natural," of which we 
have spoken. A great actor of the present time 
(Jefferson) speaking in deprecation of the tendency 
toward the familiar, colloquial treatment of the 
language of Shakespeare's tragic heroes, for exam- 
ple, once said to me, "They are not men merely 
six feet high, but sixteen;" — a copy of nature 



Popular Errors. 203 

indeed, but on a grand colossal plan ; and the 
effort to reduce them to the ordinary unidealized 
pattern, by a familiarity or flippancy in the ut- 
terance of their language, is only to produce an 
incongruous effect, often amounting to absurdity. 
Let this popular idea of naturalness be followed 
in reading much of the Bible or of Milton and 
Shakespeare, and we sin against the author and 
the language by robbing the latter of its beauty, 
sublimity, and power. 

It is of vital importance, then, in the proper 
treatment of language in reading, to reflect in all 
cases what is a truly natural, in other words, a 
congruous and appropriate, manner of treating our 
subject ; for the least reflection must show us that 
to treat a sublime, heroic, or finely poetic subject 
familiarly or in the colloquial manner, is as much 
a violation of the unchanging fitness of things as 
it would be for the artist to paint a Prometheus 
in the garment of a modern drawing-room, or to 
represent a Psyche directing domestic affairs. The 
reverse, of course, holds equally true. To clothe 
an author's thoughts, therefore, in vocal forms 
commensurate with the beauty or grandeur of his 
ideas, as well as in the lighter and more colloquial 
forms necessary at times to their expression, should 
be the end of the truly natural, which means the 
truly artistic, reader. 



Chapter II. 

The Principles of Elocution. 

It has been before stated that, in the art of 
reading or premeditated speech, naturalness of effect 
can only be accomplished by a successful imitation 
of the varied vocal forms corresponding to similar 
mental conditions which nature employs in unpre- 
meditated utterance ; and yet, to obtain a model 
for such imitation representing the best and purest 
expression of nature, we must look higher than to 
the spontaneous expression of any one individual. 

"Although a compensating nature, still holding her regards 
over the wayward errors of the human voice, may not, under 
its corruptions, deign to show us a single instance of the fit- 
ness and beauty of her laws, she has, as an indication of 
her means of perfecting the vocal powers of the individual, 
diffused throughout the species all the constituents of that 
perfection. A description of the true character and wise de- 
sign of these constituents, and the gathering-in of their scat- 
tered proprieties and beauties, furnish the full and choicest 
pattern of imitable nature; which, reduced to an orderly sys- 
tem of precept and example, must constitute the proper and 
elegant art of elocution. If, then, nature's excellencies are 
scattered throughout the species, art must ordain her canon 
by collecting them in one faultless example. The canon, so 
called, of statuary in Greece, which represented no singly- 
(204) 



Principles of J Hoc it Hon. 205 

existing form, but which was said to contain within the rule 
of its design all the master principles of the art, was the 
deliberate work of observation, time, and careful experiment 
on the eye, in the very method of reflection and discrimi- 
nating selection we here claim for elocution." — Rush. 

Perfection in the art of elocution, also, is the 
adroit blending together of diverse beauties to pro- 
duce that pleasing effect which is most nearly allied 
to that which we are pleased to call nature. Or, 
more accurately, it is the province of the art to 
seek out completeness by the means nature has 
placed within reach, and through the suggestions 
she has given of her own possibilities, if unthwarted 
in her original designs. 

A French critic, in speaking of Shakespeare, has 
beautifully said: "What Shakespeare desired above 
all was the living reality, — a reality which he en- 
larged and exalted to the ideal." In this single 
sentence we have the summing up of this whole 
matter of naturalness in the art of elocution. We 
want, indeed, the living reality, but we would have 
true natural expression idealized into its highest 
possibilities of beauty, grace, and power. To il- 
lustrate : All the strong passions of the mind com- 
municate themselves, as we have seen, so suddenly 
and irresistibly to the body that vehement gestic- 
ulations and impassioned tones are the result. 
These tones and gesticulations are, no doubt, natural, 
but they are not always the most perfect or grace- 
ful expressions of nature. The untutored extrava- 
gancies of the ignorant and uncouth under the im- 
pulse of violent emotion, though they are perfectly 



206 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

intelligible and strongly expressive, will often excite, 
in the uncultivated mind, a feeling of repulsion that 
prevents a full sympathy with the passions so 
coarsely expressed. 

Thus nature may readily run into deformity, and 
it must be the purpose of art and cultivation to 
conceal or remove all deformities, for art is called 
in, not to pervert, but to refine and exalt nature. 
Nature, it is true, will accomplish much without 
art in all human operations, and art will be of no 
avail without nature ; but it is only by a combina- 
tion of the two that we can produce perfection in 
any thing that is the workmanship of man. 

If we take a view of all the elegant arts, — music, 
architecture, painting, dancing, etc., — we can find 
no one exactly as it was when first invented. Cul- 
tivation and improvement have carried them far 
beyond their original limits. The rude and uncouth 
have been made to give way to the beautiful and 
graceful, and an ideal perfection has been achieved 
far beyond that found in the first, simple imitations 
of nature, imperfect as all our untutored efforts in 
that direction must necessarily be. 

In the art of elocution, the two great principles 
are force and grace, — the one derived chiefly from 
nature, the other from art. United, they mutually 
assist each other; alone, each loses a portion of 
its effectiveness. Force of speaking may excite 
emotions and convictions ; grace or artistic intona- 
tion pleases and excites the imagination. There is 
no agreeable sensation we receive from language 
but is capable of being heightened by the power 



Principles of Elocution. 207 

of agreeable, harmonious, or measured sounds ; 
hence the pleasure we receive from poetic num- 
bers, and even from the less apparent and looser 
measure of prose. Deprive poetry of its figures, 
its metaphors, its measured numbers, and it be- 
comes the plain, unvarnished expression of thought ; 
deprive speech of its graces, ornamental attributes 
of tone and measure, and it becomes the short and 
sharp action of every-day conversation. In order, 
then, to please as well as impress, we must imitate 
the beauty and vigor of nature. To choose these 
from among all her forms, requires an improved taste, 
made perfect by long and continued study and ex- 
ercise. For all qualities of execution are depend- 
ant upon a knowledge and discrimination of the 
truth. 

"All fine arts are essentially arts — each the offspring of a 
fruitful alliance between knowledge and intellectual facility — 
the high accomplishment of the work by the artist, and the 
reflective enjoyment of its truth and beauty by the votary, 
being purely the result of close observation, extensive com- 
parison, enlightened choice, and harmonized combination of 
the scattered constituents of propriety, unity, expression, grand- 
eur, and grace." — Rush. 

The spirit of genuine art should be the life of 
all speech. It should breathe through and animate 
language, as the soul animates the body, or the vi- 
tal principle permeates the trees and plants, build- 
ing up their trunks and extending their branches 
to the sun to blossom and bear fruit. 

Ease and grace of execution in any art, that o{ 
speech among the rest, can come only from a dis- 



208 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ciplined practice, founded upon a correct knowledge 
of the principles of the art, and under the guid- 
ance of an educated taste. 

"We maintain, against the admirers of natural faults and 
the decriers of artificial excellence, that it is not natural to 
do any thing well which is liable to disturbance from igno- 
rance and the irregularity of the will." — Barber. 

In the first place, it is false to suppose that, be- 
cause the voice is a natural gift, we must leave its 
development to nature alone or unaided. Like 
most natural gifts, it comes to us with marvelous 
capacity for improvement, and the full expansion 
of its powers depends upon their intelligent exer- 
cise. We may, it is true, read well, and even sing 
well, "by ear" alone, but it is only by a truly 
scientific cultivation, aided by discerning judgment 
and good taste, that a thoroughly artistic and ef- 
fective use of the vocal organs may be acquired. 
A knowledge drawn from a correct observation of 
the working powers of the speaking voice, enables 
the speaker to* discipline his organs to a fitting 
obedience to the dictates of his will and the prompt- 
ing of his mental powers, in giving vocal impress 
and character to the language he deals with, whether 
poetic or matter-of-fact, premeditated or extem- 
pore. 

It can not be denied that the ability to effect this 
is sometimes possessed as a special gift. But, while 
allowing that such exceptions exist, the rule is. — 
the prevalence of undeveloped powers. In the study 
of elocution, then, nothing is more important than 
the method to be employed in developing or build- 



Principles of Elocution* 209 

mg up the voice, and imparting to the student at 
the same time a natural style of delivery ; that is, 
a style in accordance with nature's own workings. 
Hie two, indeed, if proper means be employed, 
must, of necessity, go hand-in-hand; for, in the 
beautiful economy of nature, the principles of nat- 
ural expression, properly applied, are those which 
develop the organs in the very line of action which 
nature has marked out for herself. 

Thus, the same principles to which we are in- 
debted for the ultimate perfection and polish of ac- 
complished oratory, are those by which, also, we 
are to detect and remove the peculiarities of the 
foreigner, communicate the gift of speech to the 
mute, and give fluency to the convulsive stammerer. 
The intimate connection between correct theory and 
successful practice in the art of elocution, and in 
other arts also, is well expressed by a poet, who 
used the lines for another object, but who, uncon- 
sciously, has made them applicable to our immedi- 
ate purpose : 

"Truth and good are one, 
And beauty dwells in them, and they in her, 
With like participation." — Barber. 

In all efforts, then, to develop the latent pow- 
ers of the vocal organs, and to improve, by culti- 
vation, the quality of the speaking voice, the great- 
est care should be taken to follow where nature 
leads, otherwise mannerisms and affectations of voice 
apt to be acquired, — sometimes from a re- 
stricted mode of utterance, arising from an affecta- 
tion of extreme nicety or elegance in pronunciation, 

P. S. I..-18. 



210 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

and again from adopting tones which are not, as 
it were, a free-will offering of the organs of speech, 
but the result of their restraint or subjection. This 
is, of course, in all cases, to create a style of ob- 
jectionable peculiarity ; and such effects, which must 
arise from employing inherently bad means of oral 
communication, can not fail in time to deprive the 
reader or speaker of all ease and freedom of speech, 
impair the vocal organs, and cripple the beauty and 
power of audible language. 



Chapter III. 

Necessity of Training the Voice. 

The members of the human family possess in 
common certain organs for the purpose of speech 
in all its diverse forms ; but, though alike in kind, 
they differ with different individuals, not only in 
their degrees of strength and flexibility, but in the 
peculiar character of their tone-qualities. Thus 
each individual is possessed of a voice by which 
he is distinguished from other human beings as 
much as by the personal identities of feature, form, 
etc., — certain expressive characteristics distinguish- 
ing the one from the many. As the mechanical 
appliances employed to develop muscular power, 
and to secure grace of action in the limbs and 
easy carriage of the body, improve and develop 
the physique of the gymnast without rendering 
less distinct his physical personality, so does proper 
vocal culture enlarge the powers and refine the 
qualities of the voice of the student, and vet, at 
the same time, does not alter its identity as an 
individual expression of a distinct personality. Un- 
der training, therefore, properly begun and car- 
ried to its results, there is no danger of creating 
an artificial mode of expression, nor of imparting 

(211) 



212 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

to the student a mechanical style of utterance, — 
both of which objectionable features, however, do 
so often mar the premeditated forms of spoken 
language where the student has not worked with 
nature, — the only method of true art, — or rather, 
through nature back to accomplished art. When 
these facts are accepted and properly reflected upon, 
the necessity will be apparent for such a training 
of the voice as will enable the reader or speaker 
to distinctly and effectively mark the differing states 
of mind, so as to make the hearer fully sensible 
of the changes from one state to another, and of 
the special characteristics of each as they pass be- 
fore him in the panorama of vocal expression. 

There is no one of the faculties with which the 
Creator has endowed humanity which is subject to 
such extremes in its development as the faculty 
of speech. In singing, the most rigid compliance 
with formulas established on fixed principles is re- 
quired of the learner, together with an almost slav- 
ish exactitude in practice and an unlimited degree 
of patient labor. While, in the cultivation of the 
voice for the purposes of expressive utterance in 
speech, how much is left to the natural instincts 
alone ! Indeed, special cultivation of the vocal or- 
gans for reading and speech may be regarded as 
the rare exception, and not the general rule. 

The vocal organs in speech are exercised to a 
certain extent by daily practice, and in proportion 
as the ear becomes cultivated or sensitive to sound- 
impressions, and the taste refined, we speak plainly 
and agreeably. But the daily use of the voice 



Training the Voice. 213 

employs but a limited range of its powers, and 
hence it will be obvious that when a person wishes 
to exercise or exhibit the power and variety nec- 
essary in almost any varied composition, he finds 
himself at a loss for that scope and control of 
voice necessary to meet all the demands of the 
case. Let us run through the gamut of require- 
ments in reading and speaking : To enliven the so- 
cial circle by a pleasant and animated rendering of 
some favorite author ; to read aloud in a public 
assembly any article or address devoted to an ear- 
nest and forcible exposition of some popular theme ; 
to read the impressive, eloquent, and sometimes 
impassioned essays of the pulpit ; the harangues 
of the bar, the senate, or the rostrum ; to give 
utterance to the brilliant fancies and burning 
thoughts of the poet and dramatist upon the plat- 
form or the stage. All these oral presentations 
demand of the reader a more extended vocal abil- 
ity than is furnished by the ordinary conversational 
use of the voice, or by its only occasional bursts 
of emotion or passion. The more important and 
impressive effects of artistic public delivery espe- 
cially require for their cultivation a more positive 
and energized exercise of the constituent members 
of the voice-making power. Says Boutain, an able 
writer on this subject: "The kind of voice adapted 
to the exercise of public speaking is not the voice 
of ordinary conversation; it is a larger utterance." 

What shall I say, then, of the necessity 
vocal culture and the requisites of refined and reg 
ulated taste and judgment? llow shall 1 describe 



214 ^ Plea for Spoken Language. 

the rich store of expressive means which should 
be, above all, at the command of the public speaker ; 
the clergyman depicting the terrors of the final 
judgment or the unutterable love of the Creator ; 
the orator denouncing the public enemy ; the law- 
yer pleading for the triumph of justice ; or the actor, 
inspired by language of a Shakespeare, swelling 
with the grandeur and power of kings, or sighing 
in the tender tones of the lover? These are situa- 
tions, indeed, in which the ordinary instincts of 
the voice will not serve, in their uncultivated and 
merely impulsive efforts, to impart the soul of 
thought and passion to the language. 

Now, if expressive and intelligent vocal agencies 
are employed by nature to give effect to her myr- 
iad colored pictures of thought and feeling, will 
not the man who observes and studies these agen- 
cies, for the purpose of bringing them within the 
control of his will for imitative purposes, as well 
as for the purpose of developing his vocal pow- 
ers, — will not such a man possess, in reading, a 
vast advantage over one who has only the power 
to exhibit to his hearers the tones of mere con- 
versational habit, and that enfeebled still more by 
the absence of the exciting impulse of spontaneous 
feeling? The latter will seldom be able to attain 
to any thing beyond a shadow of earnestness or a 
semblance of feeling, and hence will fall short of 
the ability to create in his hearers a sympathetic 
realization of his intended effects. His conception 
of the author may be perfect, but the mechanism 
of execution not being at his command, these con- 



Training the Voice. 2 1 5 

ceptions can not be realized. He will only misin- 
terpret himself through the distracting effects of 
untrained effort. Just in the same way, the fluent 
and eloquent talker or speaker who is unaccustomed 
to express himself in writing will, when he attempts 
to give his thoughts expression in this form, lose 
the fervor and glow of his inspiration, and become 
stiff and mannered in his style. How often do we 
see an accomplished student or writer who is called 
upon, professionally or otherwise, to stand before 
his fellow-men to impart to them the thoughts and 
feelings that have burned in his own mind and 
heart with an almost inspired fervor, deliver them 
in such a deformed condition that they are utterly 
lifeless, and fail to convey one spark of that which 
animated him ! And this simply because he has 
never been trained in the mechanism of delivery, 
so to speak, by which the powers of natural utter- 
ance are voluntarily exercised and artistically con- 
trolled in the use of premeditated language, as he 
has been intellectually developed with regard to 
the powers of its expression in written forms. 
Walker, speaking of this, says : 

"Reading- may be considered as a species of music; — the 
organs of utterance are the instruments, but the mind itself 
is the performer; — and therefore, to pursue the similitude, 
though the mind may have a full conception of the sense of 
an author, and be able to judge nicely of the execution of 
others, yet, if it has not imbibed the habit of performing on 
its own instrument, no expression will be produced. There 
is a certain mechanical dexterity to be acquired before the 
beautiful conceptions we possess can be communicated to 
others." 



2 1 6 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

It may be said of the uncultivated voice what 
Addison has said of the human soul, — that "it is 
like the marble of the quarry, which shows but a 
small part of its beauty until the skill of the pol- 
isher brings out the colors, makes the surface brill- 
iant as the crystal, and discovers every ornamental 
cloud-spot running through." In other words, the 
uncultivated voice is the raw material out of which 
is wrought the thing of use and beauty. 

But, it will be asked, is it possible for all to 
learn to read and speak well? Not all equally well, 
as in what art can we find uniform excellence? 
But where it is possible, for example, for a man 
to write a good sermon or to compose an effective 
argument or address, it is just as possible for such 
a man to effectively deliver it from memory or read 
it from the manuscript with all the fervor of spirit 
and force of feeling which enabled him to give 
fitting expression to the subject through the me- 
dium of his pen. For, where there is soul and 
mind, the vocal means to express them are always 
attainable. Nothing can stand in the way of such 
ability but a lack of perfect construction in the 
vocal organs or a disinclination to undertake the 
necessary study. A full command at will of all 
the various movements of the voice in their appli- 
cation to premeditated speech, is as attainable to 
the student of elocution as force and nicety of 
touch to the pianist, or as the quick and supple 
movement of the wrist in the skillful use of the 
rapier to the fencer. All that is necessary is that 
there shall be well directed and persistent labor in 



Training the Voice, 217 

the discipline of the vocal organs, without which the 
Student can not hope to bring the expressive agen- 
cies o{ speech within his grasp in a cultivated 
sense. 

Discipline may not in every case win the battle, 
nor practice make the orator, but without them the 
means of victory arc lessened, and the chances are 
against success. It may be urged that many use 
their voices successfully in a professional w r ay with- 
out the training of which we speak here. This is 
indeed true, but they accomplish unconsciously, 
often through the necessities of circumstance, — as is 
often the case with the actor, — what he might have 
been taught intelligently, free from the errors that 
the teachings of accident must necessarily engraft. 
But even admitting native ability to have a large 
part in execution, the natural speaker, as he is 
called, or the man who speaks from impulse only, 
however great his effects when he is aroused by 
feeling, finds at times that he can not excite that 
sympathetic fervor on the part of his auditors that 
he desires. Here the trained speaker has the ad- 
vantage, having the arm of art to lean upon when 
nature fails him, — that is, being familiar with all 
the modes of expression, and master of the methods 
of producing them, from an intelligent knowledge 
of the vocal forms corresponding to the mental 
states of emotion, thought, and passion, he com- 
mands his effects when lie will. In order, there 
fore, to be able to stir the blood, to melt to love 
or pit)', or to rouse to anger or indignation, the 

speaker must have at his command, not only "wit 
p.s. 1 



2 1 8 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

and worth and words, but action and utterance, 
and all the powers of speech, 'to stir men's blood.' ' 
In the commencement of his studies it is neces- 
sary, then, that the student of elocution should be 
taught every tiling that is comprehended in a perfect 
utterance of language under its various modifica- 
tions in speech. Articulation, intonation in all its 
varied forms, qualities of voice, management of 
pauses, etc., must all be governed by rules, or at 
least directed by principles. 

" But Archbishop Whately — and his opinion only repre- 
sents that of a large class — is sure that if a person is taught 
to read on what he calls 'the artificial system,' he will be 
constantly thinking of the manner rather than the matter ; 
and will consequently fail to give satisfaction to his hearers. 
Rut why does he think so ? He has taken great pains to 
instruct his hearers in the principles of logic and rhetoric. 
Would not the same objection lie against either of these 
branches of knowledge ? But, he would answer, the student 
is to become so imbued with the principles of these arts that 
he applies the rules without really thinking of them at the 
time, and yet he could not violate them without being at 
once conscious of the fact." — Gummere. 

Why should not the same apply to the princi- 
ples and rules of elocution? Is it reasonable that 
in this department of education alone all logical 
deductions should be set aside ? It would, of course, 
be absurd, as I have acknowledged, to deny the 
existence of superior ability and great natural gifts 
in the case of some particularly' favored individu- 
als, in this as in other arts ; but it is equally ab- 
surd to deny in this art to the mass of students 
that which is granted them in every other ; namely, 



Training the Voice, 219 

the means to double their "one talent," if such 
it be, or of their five to make ten. 1 certainly 
admit that while the rule is present to the mind, 
the student will be awkward and confused, and the 
constant fear of mistake will make him more con- 
strained and irresolute than if he were to give way 
to his habitual manner, for every thing executed 
by the line and measure of prescribed rules is at 
first formal, severe, and stiff. But use is second 
nature. The awkwardness wears off in time, and 
the proper execution becomes free and natural to 
him ; then it is the mere rule is forgotten, while 
the principle which underlies it becomes, as it were, 
fused into the very nature of the artist, for artist he 
is when arriving at results through such intelligent 
discipline. The beauty and force thus acquired of 
accomplished elocution obliterates all the stilted 
stiffness and measured movements that are to be 
observed in the processes of discipline and practice. 

"/>/ all art it is necessary to know what is to be done and 
io hat moans are to be thoughtfully employed to do it well; 
to practice its rules, at first, perhaps, awkwardly, in closely 
and slowly thinking of their application, and thus, by fre- 
quent repetition, to enable the act to so far wean itself from 
the directive thought as to become an efficacious habit; and 
finally to use a full knowledge of the art with almost the 
unconscious power of what we have metaphorically called a 
ntific instinct. The purely acquired human art of swim- 
ming, unassisted by instinct, though learned with tedious 
fort, directed In- earnest thought, and only mastered at last 
l>y careful attention to every imitative and embarrassing mo- 
tion, is afterwards, from that attention fading into habit, suc- 
fully employed in danger with the thought only of the 
shore to be reached and tin- hie t<. be saved." Rush. 



220 A Plea foi' Spoken Language. 

The nicety of execution in the initiatory steps of 
the dancing school leads to the freedom and grace 
of movement which constitute the poetry of mo- 
tion ; so do the exact and formal elementary exer- 
cises of elocutionary training lead to that full com- 
mand over the powers of the voice which enables 
the speaker or reader to give constant variety, 
force, and beauty to expressive language, with per- 
fect readiness and ease. The student of elocution 
will be no more subjected to the consideration of 
rules, as rules, after he has mastered their principles 
and applied them practically to the purposes of 
speech, than the student of rhetoric or grammar is 
compelled to have the mere form of his early les- 
sons in his mind's eye, by which to arrange his 
words or construct his sentences, when he comes 
to employ language in a practical way. Who does 
not remember the struggle through which the mind 
and memory were compelled to pass in order to 
accomplish the tasks imposed by these studies? 
And who has not, in his after life, had occasion 
to wonder at the fact of being so entirely independ- 
ent of an exactly realizing sense of the mere forms 
and technical character of his school lessons, in 
the ease with which he indites a letter or other 
literary composition, or gives correct oral expres- 
sion to his thoughts? Is it not plain, then, that 
our present ability to deal with written language 
seemingly at the promptings of present instinct and 
impulse is mainly owing to what we formerly con- 
sidered the drudgery of the schools, the rules and 
discipline of which have come to almost impercepti- 



Training the Voice. 221 

bly perform their functions in compliance with our 
demands, like the works of the clock, which are 
hidden from the eye, while the movements of the 
hands are distinctly marking the flight of time. 

So it is with the accomplished painter, who, while 
making his canvas quick with life, has no occasion 
to cool the fervor of his enthusiasm in his final 
execution by stopping to consult elementary prin- 
ciples of the schools. These have been mastered 
and absorbed by his mind ; they have become 
part, as it were, of his very self, and exercise them- 
selves almost unconsciously in his work, holding 
him within the limits of truth, propriety, and good 
taste, but never restricting either his individuality 
or his genius. These acquired principles, on the 
contrary, furnish the means through which his abil- 
ity or genius is to develop itself. The practical 
details of their application form, as it were, the 
scaffolding by which he is enabled to advance, stage 
by stage, to the completion of his structure of per- 
fected art, and which, no longer needed, drops 
down, leaving no trace of its original unsightliness. 
Freed from the hampering effects of mere mechan- 
ical incapacity, natural ability is enabled to soar 
into the ideal regions of its own conception. The 
beholder who gazes upon the works of a true artist, 
while he enjoys the consummate beauty of the art 
as expressed in the creation before him, is secure 
from the obtrusion of any visible appearance of the 
mechanism by which the skillful master was enabled 
to arrive at such an exhibition of beauty and truth. 
Indeed, the artist himself may, in time, even for- 



222 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

get these practical details by which his creation 
was wrought to perfection ; but still from these it 
grew, and, without them, could never have ex- 
pressed the same result. 

In the same way, in elocution, precision and 
disciplined routine in the modes of pi'acticc, while the 
youth is under the eye and direction of the master, 
become the self-imposed restrictions of the gradu- 
ated student. The mechanism of execution once 
perfectly under control, the higher powers of the 
imagination and the superior intelligence are enabled 
to work untrammeled, and thus to develop the 
greatest possibilities of native talent. "All art," 
says Goethe, ' ' must be preceded by a certain 
mechanical expertness. " This once acquired, free- 
dom of touch and breadth of effect when giving 
scope to the imagination, and tangible forms to the 
conceptions of the mind, in obedience to the cre- 
ative will, are alike the privilege of the painter, the 
writer, and the speaker. 

The individual mode of expression peculiar to 
each person will, of course, depend, in elocution as 
in the other fine arts, upon his perceptions and 
imagination. Each will see and feel, with regard 
to any object of perception or emotion, according 
to the nature of his own mind and characteristics ; 
and each individual will therefore have a manner 
and style peculiar to himself, although, in the main, 
the style of all persons must be original only within 
the limitations of artistic truth and taste. In other 
words, the speaker or reader will always be able 
to mark his identity in the execution, and exhibit 



Training the Voice. 223 

degrees of power and excellence, such as are ap- 
parent in all works of art as produced by the many 
students of the same master and the master him- 
self. For, where cultivated taste and disciplined 
execution are brought to bear on elocution, they 
carry with them the capability to produce a variety 
of effects, while ignorance and the want of skill, on 
the other hand, narrows reading and oratory down 
to one mode of presentation. For example, a 
dozen different orators or readers may deliver the 
same speech or read the same selection, — and do it 
well, — in as many different ways, their vocal ex- 
pression being governed in common only by certain 
laws of vocal effects, which separate the good from 
the bad, or the correct from the incorrect ; or, the 
same individual may be able to express the same 
matter well in a variety of different ways, for the 
disciplined and intelligent student has a choice of 
methods, while he who depends upon his natural 
capabilities alone is too often at a loss to distinguish 
the available from the unavailable, and hence to 
express himself in all cases as he would. 



Chapter IV. 

Art not Opposed to Nature. 

There is no doubt that, owing to the fact I have 
before suggested, — namely, that reading and speak- 
ing have not received the recognition due so noble 
an art, — imperfect results from imperfect means, or 
incomplete efforts to treat elocution as an art, have 
been looked upon as conclusive evidence that read- 
ers, like poets, are born, not made, — that is, not 
made with success. As I once heard it expressed, 
"the student of elocution is too apt always to bear 
the marks of the chisel." Any half-completed work 
of art falls short of a counterpart of nature, and 
hence produces the objectionable effect of artificial- 
ity. A statue roughly cut from the native marble, 
although capable, through the patient labor of the 
artist, of the most exquisite grace and beauty of 
outline and finish, if claimed as a work of art be- 
fore these effects be accomplished, would be repu- 
diated as rude and unnatural. Thus with elocution. 
For where the student stops short of the full ac- 
complishment of art, and exhibits only its mechan- 
ism, stiffness and artificiality are the inevitable re- 
sult. 

This, unfortunately, is too often the case, but 
(224) 



Art and Nature. 225 

the art of elocution itself should not suffer from the 
misrepresentations of those of its advocates who 
are yet not true to it to the end. A little learn- 
ing in this direction is an especially dangerous 
thing, for there is between the spontaneous, or nat- 
ural, and artistic delineation of emotion and pas- 
sion, that very delicate and even dangerous ground 
which is said to exist between the sublime and the 
ridiculous, and is to be passed over in a single 
step. That this step is sometimes, nay often, taken, 
can be no argument against the genuine means of 
art for arriving at the desired end of true natural- 
ness of effect in speech. 

"Art and nature arc not opposites; the former is the end 
of the latter; the latter the means to the former. To be nat- 
ural does not come by nature, but by art, and art itself is 
nature. Elocution, therefore, is none the less natural that it 
must be studied as an art, and the study of this art is not 
to be condemned, whatever condemnation may be due to the 
errors of elocutionists." — Chambers's Encyclopedia. 

Dr. Barber, in his first publication, has the fol- 
lowing, which is most appropriate in this connec 
tion : 

"If it should be suspected that the mode of instruction de- 
duced from the elements accompanying this essay might lead 
to an artificial and measured formality, it may be answered, 
that such a mode is founded, not in inventive art, but on 
practical analysis; that its direct object is to secure that 
identical effect which every graceful speaker, i)i his happiest 
moments of harmony and fluency, intuitively attains; that a 
strict analysis of the inspiring exertions of such moments in 
a Chatham or a Henry, would elicit the very rules which 
are to secure a successful imitation. In these opinions I am 
sustained by high authority. 



226 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

"'In all these, I am very sensible that the utility of sys- 
tematical rules has been called in question by philosophers 
of note; and that many plausible arguments in support of 
their opinion may be derived from the small number of in- 
dividuals who have been regularly trained to eminence in the 
arts, in comparison with those who have been guided merely 
by untutored genius and the example of their predecessors. 
But, in all such instances, in which philosophical principles 
have failed in producing their intended effect, I will venture 
to assert that they have done so, either in consequence of 
errors which were accidentally blended with them, or in con- 
sequence of their possessing only that slight and partial in- 
fluence over the genius which enabled them to derange its 
previously acquired habits, without regulating its operations, 
tipon a systematical plan, with steadiness and efficacy. In all 
the arts of life, whether trifling or important, there is a cer- 
tain degree of skill which may be obtained by our untutored 
powers, aided by imitation; and this skill, instead of being 
perfected by rules, may, by means of them, be diminished 
or destroyed if these rules are partially and imperfectly ap- 
prehended, or even if they are not so familiarized to the 
understanding as to influence its exertions uniformly and ha- 
bitually. In the case of a musical performer who has learned 
his art merely by the ear, the first effects of systematical in- 
struction are, I believe, always unfavorable. The effect is 
the same of the rules of elocution. But it does not follow 
from this that in either of these arts rules are useless. It 
only follows that, in order to unite ease and grace with cor- 
rectness, and to preserve the felicities of original genius 
amidst those restraints which may give them a useful direc- 
tion, it is necessary that the acquisitions of education should, 
by long and early habits, be rendered, in some measure, a 
second nature.'" (Stewart's "Elements of the Philosophy of 
the Human Mind," Introduction, p. 59, Part II.) — Barber. 

The French critic, Gustave Planche, in speaking 
of a great English actor, gives a beautiful idea of 
the effect of real and perfected art : 



Art and Nature. 227 

"He did not wait until the eyes of the multitude were upon 
him to invent the means of moving it. He came upon the 
armed with a foreseeing power, resolved in advance upon 
determined gestures, upon studied intonations. The magnetic 
influence exercised over the actor by the two thousand faces 
which he was about to reign, did not take him unawares; 
but with him, as with the great orators, as with Demosthenes 
and Mirabeau, the will resembled destiny, — it commanded, 
but while itself obeying a superior power." 

It can not be denied that the artist who has made 
himself familiar, by previous study, with the read- 
ings, gestures, and perfected action of the char- 
acter he is about to personate, may, under the 
inspiration of the moment, produce effects not re- 
solved upon. The following, from "Oxbury's Dra- 
matic Biography," in allusion to the great English 
actress, Francis Maria Kelly, may be appropriately 
quoted in this connection : 

'Being generally called 'The Child of Nature/ many per- 
sons imagine that she always acts on the immediate impulse 
of the moment. This is not the fact. A perfect picture is 
not produced at a sketch; and, whilst we are upon this sub- 
ject, we shall pause to make a few observations on what is 
termed 'natural acting.' The majority of persons uphold the 
m of impulsive acting, or, to be clearer, that school of 
acting where the performer settles in his mind merely the 
broad outline of his character, and fills up at night, ad 
libitum. The general failing of those who thus act from im- 
mediate impulse, is mannerism. Our natures do not vary 
with the character, or with the night; therefore, acting on 
impulse, we must eternally represent ourselves, rather than 
the author, till we tire by reiteration; whereas, a studied 
actor, having arranged in his mind what he intends doing, 
i forth to the Stage to represent a creature of his fancy; 
and though he may. in consequence, be colder in his style 



228 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

than the devotee of the other system, the chances are ten to 
one that he is more consistent, and more original. Actors 
from impulse are always unequal. If the excitement they 
receive from applause be less than usual, they will become 
flat and insipid in the very scenes that, on a previous even- 
ing, they rendered vigorous and inspiring; besides, in the 
casualties of existence, whatever has in the day operated on 
their feelings in real life, they will communicate, at night, to 
the character of the mimic scene. It is only when study de- 
generates into precision, that it becomes displeasing. The 
most finished actor may find something occur to him, during 
the fervor of acting, that would never have been thought of 
in the closet ; as the general may find a maneuver present 
itself in the field that he did not dream of in his camp. 
Then, indeed, when impulse aids study, it becomes valuable." 

And one of our best writers on Rush, in speak- 
ing of what constitutes a truly eloquent man, has 
well said : 

"He will present nothing but what under the circumstances 
is prompted by nature ; nature, not as opposed to a deliberate 
effort to adopt the best means to the best ends, and to do 
what is to be done as well as possible — for this, though in 
one sense is art, is also the purest nature — but nature as op- 
posed to whatever is inconsistent with the idea that the man 
is under the dominion of genuine feeling, and bent upon 
taking the directest path to the accomplishment of his object. 
True eloquence is not like some painted window, which not 
only transmits the light of day, variegated and tinged with a 
thousand hues, but calls away attention from its proper use 
to the pomp and splendor of the artist's doings, but it is a 
perfectly transparent medium, transmitting light, without sug- 
gesting a thought about the medium itself." 

Let it be but once acknowledged that nature does 
not work without specific laws of cause and effect 
in the production of vocal expression in speech 



Art and Nature. 229 

any more than she does in the production of any 
other natural phenomena, that these laws are un- 
derstood and may be mastered, and through this 
means the best effects of nature be reproduced, 
and we have the requisites necessary for classifying 
elocution as a true art. And, by learning the se- 
crets of nature through her laws, we come into 
possession of the key to unlock the mysteries of 
her ultimate perfection, the possibilities of which 
then lie within the reach of intelligence and will. 

"Established principles are not as the barrier of a flood, 
which, in protecting from inroad, sometimes prevents the op- 
portunities of further conquest, but as the guide and escort 
of the arts to acquisitions of wider glory." — Rush. 

We have seen that the powers and actions of the 
vocal organs afford an infinity of combinations to 
effect all the different purposes of speech. To per- 
suade or to command, to express pity or contempt, 
or irony or indignation ; to terrify, to reproach, to 
applaud, or to condemn, — there is not one single 
state of the mind that can not find an expressive 
utterance in the tones and various modifications of 
the voice. These vocal phenomena, then, having 
been copied from their highest possible expression 
in nature and brought within the control of the 
will through the careful exercise of the organs of 
speech, familiarized to the mind, and brought into 
full sympathy with the emotional powers, will be- 
come subservient to the demands of the brain or the 
heart. 

What is meant here by bringing these elements 
of vocal expression into full sympathy with the 



230 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

emotional powers (and I speak of this more ex- 
plicitly because a proper understanding of it must 
dispel the idea that a mechanical effect must be 
the result of art in elocution) may be explained as 
follows : The natural vocal modes of expression 
which represent certain states of the mind being at 
the command of the artist to produce, will excite 
the mind when executed to that condition of which 
they are the natural result in expression. For just 
as the natural excitement of feeling produces cer- 
tain effects in vocal expression, so these effects 
created by art will at once induce, through the 
sympathy arising from the inseparable connection 
between mental state and vocal sign, that state, or 
those states, of mind which, in spontaneous utter- 
ance, would have been their producing cause. 
Having command, then, at will, through art, of the 
various vocal signs, we have the key to that real 
state of mind of which they are the indication ; 
art thus having the effect to arouse and enlist the 
natural feeling in her cause, and not to create 
merely a cold and formal result. Walker has well 
expressed this idea in the following passage, although 
the imitation of which he speaks is rather that blind 
imitation which does not imply an intelligent anal- 
ysis of the vocal characteristics of emotion and pas- 
sion : 

"When the voice assumes that tone which a musician 
would produce in order to express certain passions or senti- 
ments in song, the speaker, like the performer on a musical 
instrument, is wrought upon by the sound he creates ; and. 
though active at the beginning, at length becomes passive by 



4 hi and Nature, 231 

the sound of his own voice on himself. Hence it is that, 
though we frequently begin to read or speak without feeling 
an) of the passion we wish to express, we often end in full 

possession of it for, by the imitation of the passion, we 

meet it, as it were, half way." 

Le Gouve illustrates this point in the following 

anecdote : 

" Madam Talma relates in her memoirs that once, when she 
was acting in the character of Andromache, she was so deeply 
moved that, not only the spectators wept, but she herself. 
The tragedy finished, one of her admirers came to her, and, 
taking her by the hand, exclaimed, 'O my dear friend! It 
was admirable! It was Andromache herself! I am sure you 
imagined yourself in Epirus and the wife of Hector!' 

"'!!' she replied, laughing, 'not at all!' 

'"But you were really moved, for you were weeping.' 

"'Yes, I was weeping, without doubt.' 

"'But why? what made you weep?' 

"'My voice.' 

"'Your voice!' 

"'Yes; it was the expression which my voice gave to the 
sorrows of Andromache, and not the sorrows themselves. The 
nervous tremor which ran through my frame was the electric 
thrill produced by my own accents. I was at the same time 
auditor and actress. I magnetized myself.' " 

It is hoped that we have now come to a rational 
understanding of the term ''natural" in its relation 
to the use of premeditated language, which has 
proved such a Will-o'-the-wisp to main- seeking for 
the right way, and to a realization of the fact 
that art in speech can never be opposed to nature. 
Not nature viewed from the limited horizon of one 
undeveloped individual, but from that grand point 
of view which takes in all that is best and most 



232 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

beautiful in the wider field of human expression. 
A point of view from which all narrow impressions 
that dwarf and contract the sensibilities and confine 
the mind and soul within the limits of personal 
conceits, dogmatisms, and assertive excellence will 
be dissipated, and a wide view and generous rec- 
ognition of nature in her broadest aspects em- 
braced. The truth expressed in the following 
beautiful lines of Longfellow apply most forcibly 
here: 

"Art is the child of nature; yes, 
Her darling child, in whom we trace 
The features of the mother's face, 
Her aspect and her attitude; 
All her majestic loveliness 
Chastened and softened and subdued 
Into a more attractive grace, 
And with a human sense imbued. 
He is the greatest artist, then, 
Whether of pencil or of pen, 
Who follows nature. Never man, 
As artist or as artisan, 
Pursuing his own fantasies, 
Can touch the human heart or please, 
Or satisfy our nobler needs, 
As he who sets his willing feet 
In nature's footprints light and fleet, 
And follows fearless where she leads." 



Chapter V. 

The Advantages of Methodical Study. 

The student of elocution must master the rudi- 
ments of his art before it is possible for him to 
effect an artistic display of its beauties. But let 
us see how nearly, in the teaching of this art, the 
above requirement is met. One of our prominent 
school superintendents once told me that reading 
or elocution was taught in the schools as well as it 
could be. The scholar studied the few rules con- 
cerning pause, emphasis, and inflection to be found 
in the reading books, and then read or recited in 
accordance with those rules and listened to the 
suggestive criticism of the teacher. " For the rest," 
said he, "all depends on the taste, discrimination, 
and judgment of the pupil." And yet, if I had 
asked if music should be taught on the same prin- 
ciple, by trusting chiefly to the taste, discrimina- 
tion, and judgment of the pupil, and to a few un- 
certain rules, independent of pitch and time, his 
reply would doubtless have been, "Oh, no; of 
course the pupil must be taught the elements of 
music before he can sing." The average pupil does 
not read well by nature alone, any more than he 

sings well by nature alone. Every musician who 
v. s i ' 633) 



234 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

attempts to teach singing will begin with elementary 
vocalization, and so should it be with instruction 
in speech, for, as we have said, in order to be 
able to make use of the expressive graces of lan- 
guage, we must first gain an entire control over 
them by an assiduous study of their elements. All 
teachers who realize the truth of this carry their 
pupils back to the elements of articulation. But 
the elements of intonation in speech are either so 
imperfectly understood or considered of so little 
importance that they are generally omitted or hur- 
ried over, in order that the scholar may deal with 
the more important matter (so considered) of man- 
aging words in sentences, or continuous composi- 
tion. So it results that the pupil of the schools 
may be a fair reader as far as making the sense 
of his author clear to the intelligence of his hear- 
ers, yet, when he comes to the matter of express- 
ive reading, he too often finds himself unable to 
adapt his voice to the promptings of emotion or 
passion, however well the organs of speech may 
articulate the symbols of thought. 

" It is needless to offer arguments in favor of an elemen- 
tary didactic system to those who, from experience, in ac- 
quiring the sciences, have formed for themselves economical 
and effective plans of study. Let all others be told that one, 
and perhaps the only, reason why elocutionists have never 
employed such a system is that they have overlooked the 
analytic means of inquiry into the subject of vocal expression, 
and have therefore wanted both the knowledge and the no- 
menclature for an elementary method of instruction. There 
are too many proofs in science and art of the success of the 
rudimental method to allow us to suppose the same means 






Advantages of Study. 235 

would not have been adopted in elocution if they had been 
known to the master 

"When an attempt is made to teach an art without com- 
mencing with its simple elements, combinations of elements 
pass with the pupil for the elements themselves, and holding 
them to be almost infinite, he abandons his hopeless task. 
An education by the method we here recommend, reverses 
this disheartening duty. It reduces the seeming infinity to 
computable numbers, and furnishes us with an unexpected 
simplicity of means to produce the unbounded permutations 
of speech. It would be possible, even without regard to the 
alphabet, to teach a savage to read by directing him, word 
by word, to follow a master. And thus it has been proposed 
to teach elocution by a similar process of imitative instruc- 
tion ; but the attentive reader must now know with me, and 
others may know among themselves hereafter, that the anal- 
ysis of words into their alphabetic elements, and the rudi- 
mental methods of teaching instituted thereupon, do not give 
more facility, in the discriminations of the eye on a written 
page, than the means here proposed will afford to a student 
of elocution who wishes to excel in all the useful and ele- 
gant purposes of speech 

"The human muscles are, at the common call of exercise, 
obedient to the will. Now there is scarcely a boy of phys- 
ical activity or enterprise who, on seeing a circus rider, does 
not desire in some way to imitate him, — to catch and keep 
the center of gravity through the varieties of balance and 
motion. Yet this will not prevent failure in the first attempts, 
however close the natural tie between his will and his mus- 
cles may be. For, without trial, he knows imperfectly what 
is to be done, and, even with that knowledge, is unable, with- 
out long practice, to effect it. Thus there are many persons 
with both thought and passion, who have a free command 
of the voice on the common occasions of life, who yet utterly 
fail when they attempt to imitate the varied power of the 
habitual speaker. When the voice is prepared by elementary 
practice, thoughts ami passions find the continued and pliant 
means ready to effect a satisfactory and elegant accomplish- 



236 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

ment of their purposes. The organs of speech are capable 
of a certain range of exertion, and, to fulfill all the demands 
of a finished elocution, they should be carried to the extent 
of that capability. Actors with both strong and delicate per- 
ceptions, and who earnestly express them in speech, are al- 
ways approximating toward this power in the voice, and with 
no more than the assistance of a habitual exercise, which 
enlarges their instinct, do in time acquire a command over 
the forms and degrees of pitch and stress and time, without 
the actor himself being at all aware of the how and the what 
of his vocal attainments, or having, perhaps, one intelligent 
or intelligible idea of the ways, means, and effects of their 
application. The elementary method of instruction here pro- 
posed, being founded on the analysis of speech, at once points 
out to the actor what is to be desired and attained, and how 
every vocal purpose of thought and passion should be ful- 
filled. 

"After all that has been said, the best contrived scheme 
will be of little avail without the utmost zeal and persever- 
ance on the part of the learner. It is an impressive saying 
by an elegant genius of the Augustan age, who drew his 
maxims from the Greek tragedy, and illustrated it by his own 
life and fame, that ' nothing is given to mortal without in- 
defatigable labor,' meaning that works of surpassing merit, 
and supposed to proceed from a peculiar endowment by 
Heaven, are in reality the product of hard and unremitting 
industry. It is pitiable to witness the hopes and conceits of 
ambition when unassisted by its required exertions. The art 
of reading well is an accomplishment that all desire to pos- 
sess, many think they have already, and that few set about 
to acquire. These, believing their power is altogether in their 
'genius,' are, after a few lessons from an elocutionist, disap- 
pointed at not becoming themselves at once masters of the 
art, and, with restless vanity of their belief, abandon the study 
for some new subject of trial and failure." — Rush. 

There is, amongst the sayings of Confucius, one 
which applies most aptly in this connection: "Am- 



Advantages of Study. 237 

bition is the spur of a great mind to great action, 
but it impels a weak one to absurdity, or sours it 
with discontent." For the great mind is one that 
is willing to work, the weak one only expects re- 
sults without means. It is well-known that the 
orator celebrated above all others, Demosthenes, 
had, by nature, neither the voice nor the delivery 
which he afterwards developed to so high a state 
of perfection. His eloquence, which was so pow- 
erful because so seemingly natural, was, at the same 
time, largely the result of laborious cultivation. 

From "The Arte of Rhetorick," written by Sir 
Thomas Wilson, in 1 5 5 1 , this quaint and appropri- 
ate passage is taken : 

"By what means Eloquence is obtained: First, nedeful it 
is that he which desireth to excell in this gift of Oratorie, and 
longeth to prove an eloquent man, must naturally have a 
wit and an aptness thereunto; then must he to his boke, and 
lcarne to be well stored with knowledge, that he maie be 
able to minister matter for all causes necessarie. The which 
when he hath gotte plentifully, he must use muche exercise, 
both in writyng and also in speakyng. For though he have 
a wit and learning together, yet sliall they hot he little availe 
without much practice. What maketh the Lawyer to have 
such utterance? Practice. What maketh the Preacher to 
speak so roundly? Practice. Yea, what maketh women go so 
fast awaie with their wordes? Marie, practice I warrant you. 
Therefore in all faculties, diligent practice and earnest exer- 
cise are the only thynges that make men prove excellent." 

Tf there is much time and great application re- 
quired to master the initiatory and more advanced 
proc< f elocutionary study, it must be re 

numbered th.it there is an object to be gained of 



238 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

incalculable importance, independent of laying the 
foundation for an energetic and finished style of 
public reading and address, — and that is the effect 
such study, universally pursued, must, in time, 
have upon the development of spoken language in 
all its departments of usage, and the reflex influ- 
ence of such development on the general literary 
cultivation. In truth, no study can be of greater 
importance in this regard than the comparatively 
neglected one of oral language. The proper study 
of a composition necessary to give it vocal expres- 
sion leads the student, of necessity, to penetrate 
more deeply into the intent of the author, as re- 
gards both thought and feeling, than a mere silent 
perusal ever can ; for, by a study of the correspond- 
ing vocal means necessary to express what the 
written language embodies, the intelligence, imag- 
ination, and emotional nature are quickened and 
made to perceive a multitude of ideas and inten- 
tions that are lost in the dumb language of the 
printed page. This is well exemplified in the case 
of the true actor-student, who often arrives, through 
the necessity of dwelling upon and weighing every 
word, phrase, and sentence as a condition of giv- 
ing it fitting utterance, at a much keener realiza- 
tion of the real value of the author's language, than 
any mere literary analysis of the commentators 
could alone supply. Indeed, pen can but imper- 
fectly record or tongue describe the vivid revelations 
of meaning which at times dawn upon such a stu- 
dent, and the hidden beauties of the language 
which in consequence unfold. And, indeed, such 



Advantages of Study. 239 

must be the result in all careful study of language 
for the purpose of oral expression, whether for the 
stage, the platform, or the social circle. The writ- 
ten language, read silently, may be regarded as 

but a dim outline of that which it is intended to 
express ; infused with appropriate vocal sound, it 
stands out as an illuminated picture, in all the beau- 
tiful effects of tint and color, light and shade. For 
it is only by a skillful use of the constituent ele- 
ments of vocal sound that we are enabled to give 
full expression to the whole world of thought in 
all its myriad forms, or to reveal the inmost life 
of feeling and passion in all its tenderest and finest 
processes. Legouve says: 

"One of the greatest advantages of reading aloud is pre- 
cisely to bring to light numbers of delicate shades of mean- 
ing sometimes not recognized even by the artist who placed 
them there. For this reason this art of reading aloud might 
become a powerful instrument of education. It is as often 
an excellent professor of literature as a great master of elo- 
cution The best means of comprehending the ensemble. 

of a composition is to read it aloud." 

All who have made the matter a subject of study 
and practical application or experiment have real- 
ized this same mutual dependence of the one form 
of language upon the other. Thus Walker : 

"Pronunciation (delivery) and composition mutually throw 
light on each other. They are counterparts of one operation 
of the human mind; namely, that of conveying the ideas 
and feelings of one man to another with force, precision, 
and harmony." 

A more general and correct study o\ oral ex- 



240 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

pression could not fail, therefore, to contribute to 
a greater appreciation of the powers and beauties 
of the written language, and hence to a generally 
increased love of the best in literature. 

In view of these considerations what a foremost 
rank should the study of spoken language take in 
the education of a people. It was beyond question 
the great perfection to which the Greeks brought 
their spoken language, with the attendant develop- 
ing and refining influences, that gave them the title 
to distinction as a type of the highest culture on 
record ; and I feel assured the time will come with 
us when the condition of our spoken language will 
be one of the strongest indications of the general 
intellectual, aesthetic, and even moral standard of 
our people. 

It must be remembered, in this connection, that 
all culture for reading should not be alone for pub- 
lic or dramatic purposes, nor should all artistic 
speaking imply declamation or oratory. In other 
words, dramatic effect and declamation in language 
must by no means be regarded as the sole ends 
of elocutionary study. There is a large intermedi- 
ate territory lying between the flippancy, inaccuracy, 
and vocal imperfection of every-day conversation 
and the more formal matter of public reading or 
address, which comes as legitimately within the 
province of a true elocution as the latter, and is 
of as much, if not more, general importance. I 
mention this point particularly, because there is a 
certain danger that a desire for display and showy 
effect alone will cause vocal culture and artistic 



< Idvantages of Study. 241 

reading, as an elegant social or domestic accomplish- 
ment, to be too largely overlooked. But the true 
art of elocution is more catholic in its scope and 
spirit, laying the broad foundations in an intelligent 

and disciplined study of spoken language upon 
which any variety or degree of effect in utterance 

may be built, as exigency or propriety in the cir- 
cumstances or conditions may demand. Weiss says : 

"Not only does the profession of the singer and actor re- 
quire special efforts of the voice, but there are other callings 
in life, not immediately devoted to art, that make no less claim 
on vocal capacity, and often we find those engaged in such 
calling are, as regards voice, incapacitated to fulfill their de- 
mands. To such the question is whether it is possible to 
develop apparently limited vocal capacities to greater power 
or duration without danger of injurious reaction." 

With regard to the art and science of elocution, 
as the\- exist, although we claim much for both, 
we do not wish to be understood as claiming per- 
fection for either. Many are the works of human 
effort which, to begin and follow to perfection is 
rarely granted to one, or, indeed, many generations ; 
.so it is and must be with elocution. But where 
perfection in its highest sense is not immediately 
attainable, we must rest content with approximate 
results, always working onward, however, to a sup- 
posable consummation, and never permitting the 
ideal to be reduced to a lower standard in order 
to bring it within the reach of easier attainment. 
Thus, an intelligent faith and practiced ability, di- 
rected by the light of principles already understood, 

must eventually, though gradually, work out a final 
p. s. 1. 



242 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

result which will place the study and practice of 
speech, both private and public, upon solid foun- 
dations. 

When the various nationalities are fused in the 
alembic of American unity, when the great heart 
of the continent shall pulsate with blood whose vi- 
tality shall quicken a race ■ ' native and to the man- 
ner born," of one family and of one tongue, then 
should the utmost possibilities of the spoken' lan- 
guage of so great a people be fully developed. 
I do not doubt that this result will finally be 
reached, but it can only come through the intelli- 
gent and disciplined study of the uttered forms of 
our speech being made an essential feature of the 
national education. 

"Language being the great instrument of elocution, if it be 
not of a good sound and large compass, will never suffer 
that art to give much delight, nor consequently to make any 
great progress. But though a nation should be in possession 
of an instrument, in its construction perfectly fitted to show 
all the force of harmony; if they never inquire into its pow- 
ers, nor try what compass it has; if they take no pains to 
put it in tune; if they learn not the rules of music, nor are 
acquainted with the notes, they will not be in a much better 
situation than those who are confined to the poorest. Some, 
indeed, may learn a few by ear, but the generality will pro- 
duce nothing but discord, like those who touch the keys of 
an harpsichord at random." — Sheridan. 

Again, I would not be understood to claim that 
the cultivation of the voice, and the system of study 
here proposed can produce eloquence. A soul, in- 
tellect, appreciation, — the essential powers of a 
speaker or reader, — are gifts of nature that can 



Advantages of Study. 243 

not be created by any methods ; but that they can 
be cultivated and aroused to life and action, in 
many cases when they are but dimly recognized 
by their possessors, I do most certainly believe; 
and I am convinced that ' ■ futurity will probably 
show that some such system alone can direct, en- 
large, and perfect them." 

Educated talent gives power to the speaker by 
increasing his confidence and faith that he can ac- 
complish that which he has undertaken, with credit 
to himself, and with advantage to the cause in 
which he labors. 

Finally, and above all, the study of elocution 
must be a labor of love. Daniel Webster, in draw- 
ing the line between what is and what is not elo- 
quence, said, most justly, that the schools give the 
student — or should — the weapon of the orator, 
keen, true, and capable of the result desired, but 
that the strength of arm is needed to make it 
trenchant, and, more than that, the love is neces- 
sary to complete the force by which the blow is 
dealt. Although it is true that in our studies we 
must invoke the powers of the brain to define and 
direct the methods and forms of practice and dis- 
cipline in accordance with the principles which un- 
derlie the art, still it is the love of the art which 
quickens the imagination and emotional nature of 
the student and blends the warmth and fervor of 
enthusiasm with the colder promptings of intellect- 
ual conception. Principles thus mastered and em- 
ployed give a soul to what would otherwise be a 
cold and formal, however correct, delivery. 



244 -A Plea for Spoken Language. 

This love of what is beautiful and eloquent in 
speech is, without doubt, inherent in our race, and 
in this fact lies the earnest of the result we have 
foreshadowed for the art of spoken language ; for 
in this, as in all things, — 

"It is the heart and not the brain 
That to the highest doth attain; 
And he that followeth love's behest 
Far exceedeth all the rest." 



#lt|«;nMr. 



. — (Barber's and Hill's Essay. 



(245) 



Chapter I. 

The Principles of RJiythmus. 

There is a disposition on the part of some of 
our modern elocutionists to establish a system of 
reading poetry by printing verse in the form of 
prose, — obliterating the usual graphic distinctions 
employed to mark the blank verse line, the rhymed 
couplet, the quatrain, etc. 

The apparent object of this arrangement of the 
text of poetry is to divest the latter of any ap- 
pearance of recurring forms in the measured lines 
or their terminal syllables, by which the voice may 
be led, through the eye, to that offensive uniformity 
o]- sing-song repetition of sounds, exemplified in 
the child's reading of nursery rhymes. 

There is great danger, however, of such an ar- 
rangement of the text inducing the opposite error 
of the familiar or colloquial style of reading poetry, 
by which a presentation of the mere grammatical 
sense of the language is made the primary object 
of deliver)', and the emotion or sentiment left to 
take care of itself. 

While I admit that the sing-song manner of read- 
ing verse is too prevalent, and much to be depre- 
cated, still I wish to eall attention to the feet that 

(247^ 



248 A Plea for Spokeit Language. 

there is a better and surer means of avoiding this 
evil than that of knocking our poetic forms into 
pi, as the printer has it, and (to continue the fig- 
ure) setting them up again in the prosaic forms of 
a daily advertisement. 

There is a golden mean to be attained, in the 
reading of poetry, between the "ti-tum-ti" style 
and the familiar manner appropriate to common- 
place subjects. This I believe to exist in a correct 
understanding and application of the important 
principle of rhythmns in our language, first demon- 
strated by Sir Joshua Steele, and developed by 
later writers (chief amongst whom was Dr. Barber) 
into a practical working system. 

An understanding of the subject as explained by 
these writers will show the student that, while 
rhythm is an ornament to oral language, it is also 
an essential, based upon a law which lies deep in 
the nature of the vocal organism, and which governs 
its correct and healthful action in utterance. It will 
also show him that the correct observance of a 
rhythmic movement does not imply that the voice 
shall strictly follow the mere mechanism of verse, 
although necessarily marking the latter sufficiently 
to preserve the effect arising from poetic num- 
bers. 

Moreover, he will learn that syllabic measure, or 
metrical progression in speech, is not confined to 
verse alone, but exists as well in all well constructed 
prose. 

It may be said that, in a certain sense, there is 
prose in poetry and poetry in prose, and the true 



1 



The Principles of Rhyl l limns. 249 

art of the reader will enable him to so deal with 
both as to render poetry independent of the mere 
tyranny of meter, without robbing it positively of 
measured forms, and to give to prose a proper de- 
gree of rhythmic latitude. 

The end proposed, by a happy combination of 
the art of the reader and the poet, is not only to 
reach the understanding, but to appeal beyond to 
the soul through the fancy and the imagination. 

The ear that is not educated to an appreciation 
of measured sounds in their relations to the utter- 
ance of the language of poetic fervor or exaltation, 
will never enable the reader to attain to this con- 
summate power. 

If, then, in the course of study by which we ed- 
ucate our youth to an effective exercise of their 
vocal powers, the principles of meter and rhythm 
be ignored, not only must the organs of voice 
suffer in consequence, but the emotional and imag- 
inative nature will be deprived of one of its most 
effective means of expression in language. 

Desiring to give place in this volume to Dr. 
Barber's valuable essay on rhythmus, and some 
scored examples to illustrate the principles of meas- 
ure in speech, I offer the following outline, con- 
taining briefly the substance of his explanation of 
the subject, which will be necessary to the reader 
to apprehend the value and application of the es- 
say and examples in question. 

All oral language, whether consisting of prose or 
poetry, if correctly delivered, is divided into met- 
rical cadences or measures, each of which, as in 



250 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

music, ought to occupy the same length of time in 
the utterance. 

A cadence, or measure in speech, consists of a 
heavy or accented portion of sound, followed by 
one or more light or unaccented portions. 

This succession of heavy and light, or of accented 
and unaccented sounds, is dependent upon a law 
belonging to the primary organ of voice, by which 
that organ is inevitably subjected to the alternate 
action and reaction of pulsation and remission, in 
sympathy with the lungs and heart. 

A measure or cadence, then, may be said to have 
two elementary portions, — a heavy and a light. 
Steele designated these portions of the cadence by 
the term poise, — heavy poise and light poise, or 
thesis and arsis. By heavy poise was meant that 
property of a syllable which has acquired for it 
the term accented, and by light poise, that which, 
as contradistinguished from the other, has been 
called unaccented. The terms accented and unac- 
cented, for the sake of simplifying the treatment 
of the subject, will be substituted, therefore, for 
the term poise ; and for the same reason the word 
measure will be used in preference to cadence.* 

The accented portion of a measure is marked to 
the eye thus A. and the unaccented thus . ' . 

The word temper exhibits a perfect measure. 



e This is not only to simplify terms by using but one term for 
the same thing, but to avoid the use of cadence in more than 
one sense, as this term will be employed hereafter exclusively to 
designate the melodic close of a sentence. 



The Principles of RhythmUs. 251 

The difference between a perfect measure and a 
perfect metrical foot, consists in the following: 

A metrical foot is composed of one syllable, or 
any number of syllables, not exceeding five, occu- 
pying the duration of a measure. 

Thus the word temper exhibits a perfect metrical 

A ••• 

foot, the accented portion of the measure being on 

the first syllable, and the unaccented on the second. 

In the word temperance, we have a metrical foot 

A •'• •■• 

of three syllables, occupying the same measure of 
time as the preceding, the unaccented portion of 
the measure being divided into two short syllables. 
The light or unaccented portion of the measure may 
be similarly broken up or articulated into three and 
even four syllables in rapid utterance ; as, spir-it-u-al, 
spir-it-u-al-ly, beau-ti-ful-ly. 

.-. .'. A ■•■ ••• ••• 

In such cases the metrical foot is different in 
form, but the measure remains the same. 

Two heavy or accented sou/ids can never be uttered 
in immediate succession, like the heavy and the light 
sounds, — for the same reason that the hand, having 
closed by a contraction of the muscles, can not be 
closed again until it has been intermediately opened. 
Thus the word baker may be uttered with one effort 
of the voice, the first syllable being produced by 
the pulsative, and the second by the remiss, action 
of the larynx, alternating with each other as ac- 
cented and unaccented sounds. 

But the words bake, bake, can not be uttered in 
immediate succession. Each word being on the 



252 A Plea for Spoken La,7iguage. 

pulsative, there will be a perceptible hiatus or pause 
between them, for if the light portion of a measure 
does not follow the pulsative effort of the larynx, 
the remission must take place in pause or silence. 
In this case the time of such remission will meas- 
ure the same as that which would be occupied in 
the utterance of the light part of the measure. 
Thus: 

1 — 1 
"My hopes, fears, joys, pains, all centre in you," 

A .'. A ■•• A .-. A •■• A .'. A .-. .-. A 

will occupy exactly the same time in the utterance 
as 

"My hopes and fears and joys and pains all centre 

A .-. A ••• A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. 

in you." 

A 

Heavy and light sounds in immediate succession 
constitute the base of such words as 

fan-cy, pict-ure, tem-per, etc.; 

A .-• A ■•• A 

light and heavy sounds, such words as 
ab - hor, de - test, a - void, etc. 

A •■• A .-. A 

Monosyllables constituting nouns and verbs, not 
merely auxiliary, are almost always affected to the 
heavy or accented function of the voice, and parti- 
cles to the light or unaccented, — thus: 

Man, boy, beast, bid, break, hill; of, to, he, 

A .'. A .*. A .-. A .'. A .". A •■• A .\ A .-. A .-. 

it, from. 
a .-. A 

Certain syllables are affected, either to the ac- 
cented or unaccented portion of the measure, ac- 



77/r Principles of Rhythmus. 253 

cording to the syllables with which they are asso- 
ciated, or according to their relative importance in 
the sentence, — thus: 

let, let; will, will; can, can. 

A ••• A A 

This is the case of all auxiliaries, expletives, and 
monosyllables of intermediate importance : 

Let him go where'er he will, man shall still 

A .-. A ••• A .-. A •■• A .-. A 

be man. 

A ••• 

A bar ( | ) is a technical invention used to 
separate the successive measures of speech to the 
eye, and is here employed as in music, the time 
of all the bars being equal. 

An imperfect metrical foot is one in which either 
the accented or the unaccented portion of the meas- 
ure is wanting. In such cases the time of the bar 
is completed by a corresponding rest or pause, 
marked thus 7> as m the line following : 

'Twas at the | roy-al | feast | •? for | Per-sia | won.*' j 

A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. A' .'. A .-. A .*. ' 

Here "feast" forms an imperfect foot represent- 
ing only the accented portion of the measure ; and 
"for," an imperfect measure in which this order 
is reversed. 

A single syllable may constitute an entire meas- 
ure if it be extended in time, in which case the 
pulsative and remiss action takes place on its first 
and latter part, the first part being perceptibly 
heavier, and the latter part lighter. Syllables such 
as 

hail, star, joy, 
a .-. a .-. a .-. 



254 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

admit of a pulsation and remission as palpably as 
though they consisted of two syllables. 

Such syllables may be pronounced so as to con- 
stitute a part or a full measure, at the option of 
the speaker. In the latter case, the syllable com- 
prises an emphatic foot, — thus: 

Hail, | ho-ly | Light! •? | 

A measure may be in common or triple time, 
according to the character of the foot. 

A metrical foot of two syllables constitutes a 

measure of common time ; as, 

Nat -ure's | change-ful | form. | 
a .-. a .-. A 

A measure of triple time is composed of three 

syllables : 

The | mur-mur-ing | stream-let winds | 

a .-. .-. A 

Clear thro' the | vale. 

a .-. .-. a .-. 

When either of these feet predominate in verse 
it is said to be in common or triple time. 

These are considered the most perfect feet. Next 
comes the emphatic foot or measure of a single 
syllable, already described. 

TJie third form is the foot of four syllables, con- 
stituting the accelerated measure, the syllables of 
which are uttered with more than ordinary quick- 
ness, or, more technically, with very short quantity ; 
for since every bar occupies the same space, it must 
be evident that the pronunciation must be acceler- 
ated according to the number of syllables. 

The following are examples of this kind of met- 
rical foot: 



The Principles of Rhythmus. 255 

Cit-i-zens of | Lon-don. | 
To I mo-men-ta-ry | con-scious-ness a- | woke. 

A ••• A .*. .-. A 

He had a | fever | when he was in | Spain. 

A 

The foot of five syllables is called a base foot, 
and is only employed in the measures of familiar 
prose ; and even there it exists rather as a license 
of carelessness in the speaker, as in the following: 

If the I soul I f be happily dis- | posed •* | every thing 

' ' A ' 

be -comes | ca-pa-ble of af- | ford-ing en-ter- | tain-ment. | 

a .-. •■• .;. ■•• a .-. .-. .-. A 

Such a measure necessitates extreme acceleration 
or rapidity in its utterance, and would, therefore, 
in a more dignified reading, be broken up into 
two measures, — thus: 

I Capable | •* of af | fording. | 

A .-. ■•• A 

We never find in the verse of Shakespeare or 
Milton a measure of more than four syllables. 

From the preceding it will be seen that the 
quantities perpetually vary in speech, as in music, — 
that is, that while each entire bar in a succession 
measures the same in time, the quotional parts of 
these bars will constantly vary as to time. 

In a succession of measures, beside the slight 
pauses arising from the rests of the imperfect meas- 
ure, the time of a whole bar, or of several bars, 
may pass in silence when the longer pauses of 
discourse require such continued suspension of the 
voice. Such pauses separate language into clausular 
divisions. 



256 A Plea for Spoken Langtcage. 

The "rests" of imperfect measures, together 
with the measures of complete silence, permit a 
constant supply of breath to the speaker without 
any interference with the natural flow of continued 
utterance. 

The time or rate of utterance may be either 
rapid or slow, but in all cases it is susceptible of 
measured progressions in accordance with the prin- 
ciples I have endeavored to explain. 

The rhythmus of speech consists in an arrange- 
ment of measures or metrical feet in clauses more 
or less distinguishable by the ear, and of more or 
less obvious proportion in their periods and re- 
sponses. 

If a discourse or paragraph were composed or 
delivered without such clausular divisions and re- 
sponses, though k were ever so perfect in its 
metre, it would have no rhythmus. 

Verse is composed of a regular succession of 
metrical feet or similarly constructed measures, so 
divided by pauses into proportioned parts or clauses, 
as to present, at certain intervals, sensible responses 
to the*ear. 

Prose is composed of all sorts of measures, ar- 
ranged without attention to obvious rule, and di- 
vided into clausular divisions that have no obvious 
proportion, and present no responses to the ear at 
any determined intervals. 

The broad distinction, then, between prose and 
verse consists in the more regular sequence of ac- 
cent, quantity, and pause in the latter than in the 
former. 



The Principles of Rhythmus. 257 

But in their respective attempts at rhythmic ex- 
cellence, they seem to approach each other in a 
compromise which adds to the regularity of one and 
diminishes that of the other. Thus the best poetic 
rhythmus is that which admits occasional deviations 
from the current of similar metrical successions, so 
ordered that they may not continue long enough to 
destroy the general character of regularity, whilst 
the most skillfully arranged prose is constantly 
showing the beginning of a regular metrical ar- 
rangement, which loses itself in a new series of 
measures before the ear has time to become im- 
pressed with any determinate order. 

The beauty of poetry, then, may be said to con- 
sist in such a nice adjustment of the several kinds 
of measures and the various rests or pauses, as 
will produce an agreeable rhythmus without in- 
terfering with the regular mechanism of the verse. 

The following lines will afford instances of agree- 
able rhythmus in use : 

Arms and the | man, I | sing-) ^ •* | who •» | forced by | 

A A A .'■ A A •• A 

fate. I 

A ••• 

Hail, I holy I Light! •* | offspring of | heaven | first | born. | 

A". - . A ••• A ••• A A A . A .'. 

Rocks, * I caves, •* | lakes, •* | fens, •* | bogs, •* | dens, ami 

A -■•' A .'. A ••• A A ••■ A 

I shades of I death. | 

A A ••• 

•y A I u-ni-verse of | death | •* which | Cod by | curse | 

A ••• A •• . ••• A ••■ A A ••• A .-. 

•f Cre I ated | evil, | •? for | evil | only | good •* | 

A • A ••• A .'. A .'. A .-. A •• A 

P. s. 1 



258 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

From a mistaken idea as to the nature of quan- 
tity in our language, but little attention has, as yet, 
been paid, in the study of reading, to the rhythm 
of prose ; yet numberless beautiful passages from 
the writings of our best authors attest their appre- 
ciation of the effects of this symmetrical arrange- 
ment of time, accent, and pause. The following 
passage from Dickens, whose writings abound in 
similar instances, will furnish an example of the 
charm of rhythmic prose : 

Dear, | gentle, | patient, | noble | Nell | *f was | dead. | •* •* | 

A .-. A •• A ••• A .-. A"V. A ••■ A .-- A .". 

«7 Her I little | bird, | f a | poor * | slight *j | thing, | •* the | 

A .-. A .-. A .-. A ■•• A .-. A .'. A ••• A .-. 

pressure of a | finger would have | crushed,*? | *fwas [ stirring | 

A .-. .-. .-. A .-. .-. .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. 

nimbly | *f in its | cage, | *f and the | strong | heart | •* of 

A .-. A ••• ••• A .-. A ••• .-. A .-. A .'. A . - . 

its I child- 1 mistress | *^was | still | ^and | motionless | *^for j 



a .• 
ever. 



Language, ever obedient to those subtle laws by 
which the mind is directed in its tendencies, and 
made, as it were, involuntarily to choose certain 
modes of giving expression to its emotions, be- 
comes naturally rhythmical in proportion to the 
dignity and elevation of the thoughts which seek 
utterance. 

The ancients, with whom speech was an esthetic 
art, laid much stress upon the beauty and dignity 
of rhythm in language, and they considered that 
there could be no grace or excellence of style with- 
out a well ordered arrangement of accentual force, 
quantity, and pause. Ouintilian wrote copiously 



The Principles of Rhytlimus. 259 

on the subject; so did Dionysius of Halican-.assus. 
The latter speaks of rhythmus as " supporting or 
sustaining the voice;" which it does by preserving 

it from that careless and imperfect utterance in 
which the words stumble and run against each other, 
as it were, in such a manner as to arrest the even 
step of language, and thwart the expectation of 
both the ear and the mind. 

An important fact to be pointed out in reading 
according to the division of language by musical 
time, as here explained, is that, in order to produce 
harmonious succession, the voice must always move 
perceptibly from the accented or heavy to the light or 
unaccented syllable, and ?icver from the light to the 
heavy. Such a progress is essential to the facility, 
force, and harmony of delivery in natural, contin- 
ued utterance. If, therefore, a line begin, as 
many of our lines do, both in poetry and prose, 
with a light or unaccented sound, the voice must 
sound lightly the first syllable, and then the pro- 
gress through the line or passage is from heavy to 
light. The imperfect bar would be marked by a 
rest ; the same rule applies to the musical bar. 
Such a passage would begin with an imperfect foot, 
as in the following: 

•f Yc I airy | sprites who | oft as | fancy | calls. 

A A .'. A .-. A •■• A ••• A 

The physical cause of this alternation of accented 
and unaccented sounds in language may be demon- 
strated not only by anatomy, but by the united 
senses of vision and touch in examining the action 
of the living throat in the act of energetic Speaking. 



260 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

It is this principle, and not the mere arrangement 
of long and short syllables, which constitutes the 
natural basis of rhythmus in our language ; but it 
must be remembered that the perfection of that 
rhythmus must depend upon the nice adaptation 
of quantities to fill out properly the physical alter- 
nation, and preserve a due proportion in the meas- 
ures and clauses. 

If the enunciated sounds of continued speech, 
together with its rests and pauses, are subjected to 
musical time, as here explained, the respiration will 
never become disturbed even by the most energetic 
speaking ; but in proportion as speech is not accu- 
rately divided by syllabic measures, will the respi- 
ration become laborious, and the physical powers 
be so far ineffectually applied. 

The division of language, moreover, by musical 
time, is not only essential to easy, correct, and forci- 
bly continued utterance, but the law of relation is 
carried still farther, for it will be found that the 
grammatical sense of the language always corre- 
sponds with the natural division of its parts into 
accentual measures. 



Chapter II. 

Essay on Rkytkmus. By Dr. Barber, 1823. 

The general neglect of the science of rhythmus 
has been peculiarly hostile to the improvement of 
our national elocution. 

It is a question whether the principles upon 
which the rhythmus of our language depends have 
been even ascertained by grammarians and professed 
instructors. I think they have not. Indeed, with 
the exception of the works of Joshua Steele, the 
Rev. Mr. Odell, and Professor Thehvell, I know 
of no others who throw light upon the nature and 
character of a "cadence," or an English metrical 
foot. 

I have been greatly indebted to an unpublished 
lecture by the last-named gentleman for important 
information in this preliminary essay. With the 
exception of what I have learned from these sources, 
I have met with nothing on the subject of the de- 
liver)' of our language which has not appeared to 
me more or less defective in theory. 

An ignorance of certain physical facts has led 
main' writers on rhythmus to ascribe to mere elec- 
tion and voluntary taste what has its origin in the 

indispensable attributes of organic action. 

(261) 



262 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

It was this ignorance which prevented Mr. Roe 
[a contemporary writer] from perceiving the neces- 
sity of the mensuration of pauses ; and which led 
him to deny that the crotchet and quaver rests con- 
stitute a part of the elocutionary as well as of the 
musical bar. He has, accordingly, amused the eye 
with cadences of a length which no human organs 
can utter, to say nothing of the confusion and de- 
formity which his theory is calculated, in other re- 
spects, to introduce into the pronunciation of En- 
glish verse. It is only by a consideration of the 
necessary pulsation in the first place, and of the 
equally necessary alternate remission in the second, 
of the primary organ of voice, that we can ascer- 
tain what constitutes a cadence, or one simple 
measure, and where such simple measure begins. 

But the true nature of a cadence being once un- 
derstood, we can not fail to apprehend the metrical 
proportion of our language ; nor can we fail to per- 
ceive how it happens that persons who speak with 
harmony and facility, speak in metrical cadences. 
If our conception of a metrical foot be accurate, 
we shall be able to detect, moreover, the fallacy 
into which those have fallen who have hitherto con- 
founded poise (or heavy and light) with quantity; or, 
in other words, the arbitrary adjustment of long 
and short syllables, in Latin scanning, with the in- 
evitable recurrence of thesis and arsis. No person 
can read Latin intelligibly if he reads as he has 
been taught to scan; but, by means of a scoring 
which accurately marks the periodical recurrence 
of thesis and arsis, or of heavy and light syllables, 



Barber's lis say on Rhythmics, 26 



as dependent on the action and reaction of the or 
gan of voice, not only may every individual read 

as he scans, but, as the scoring will be found in- 
variably to ascertain the grammatical sense, a devi- 
ation in actual delivery from the rule ascertained 
by that scoring will be found, in the precise degree 
of such deviation, to involve the trifold sacrifice 
of the sense, the harmony, and the undisturbed 
tenor of the respiration. If we bear in mind the 
precise meaning of heavy and light poise (or ac- 
cented and unaccented sounds) as distinguished from 
all other attributes of speech, we shall find no diffi- 
cult)' in detecting the difference between the com- 
mencement of a line, or of a passage, and the 
commencement of a foot ; we shall perceive that 
the speaker or the poet, equally with the musician, 
may commence with an initial or imperfect bar ; and 
we shall be successful in our attempts to divide 
into their primitive metrical parts such passages as 
are so commenced. 

Nothing is at present more fully ascertained than 
the mathematical proportion of the bars of music, — 
the general agreement of integral bars (in a given 
time or passage) amidst the boundless varieties of 
parts and fractions of which those integers are com- 
posed. But let us suppose that one of the fine 
passages from Handel or from Haydn were pre- 
sented to us, with every part of its notation com- 
plete except the division into bars, and that we 
were to proceed (taking numbers, instead of fro/'or- 
tions, as the basis of our metrical divisions) to write 
it into score, and were, unfortunately, to begin 



264 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

from an improper note, — what would, in that case, 
become of the proportion of the bars, as far as re- 
lated to their impression upon the eye? And yet, 
how easy would it be to amuse a person ignorant 
of the science of sounds, with plausible declama- 
tion upon the want of time and measure in the 
music of Handel and Haydn ! 

These observations strictly apply to those persons 
who have denied a measure to English speech, and 
who have refined, with great apparent profundity, 
on the rhythmus and structure of our language. 
No wonder it is, that, under such circumstances, 
the six proportioned but varied cadences that con- 
stitute (in its simplest form) an English heroic line, 
should have been reduced, by false theory, into 
five disproportioned and incongruous feet; that the 
measure of harmonious prose should have been 
peremptorily denied, and that even the magnificent, 
the infinitely diversified, but mathematically perfect, 
measure of the immortal Milton (who never devi- 
ates into a discord or neglects a quantity but when 
he has some emotion to represent which would be 
marred by the incongruity of harmonic smoothness) 
should have been theorized into chaotic disorder 
and dissonance by secluded critics who have never 
learned to scan his verse with their cars, nor to 
utter it with their oral organs. 

But the misfortune as regards the practical ends 
oT delivery is, that false theory has led to bad hab- 
its of utterance. It is as practicable (however op- 
posed to nature and instinct) to present inverted 
cadences or measures to the ear as to the eye ; that 



Barber's Rssax an Rhythmics. 265 

is, measures in which the voice proceeds from light 
to heavy, instead of in the natural order from heavy 
to light. This error constitutes an impropriety of 
utterance which offends more frequently than any 
other the ear of taste and sensibility, in the harsh 
and labored elocution of artificial speakers. Its 
effects are perceptible to all hearers. The detec- 
tion of its cause lies deep in the first principles of 
the science of speech. 

The indication of a division or mode of progress 
from heavy to light, from the accented to the unac- 
cented syllables, instead of the reverse of this, is in 
the natural organic action of the speaker. Its re- 
sult is force and harmony. This instinctive progress 
from heavy to light, as distinguishable from that of 
from light to heavy, it is most essential to compre- 
hend and feel. The metrical principle, manifested 
by the first of these movements, applies, not only 
to human speech, but to the vocal efforts, however 
limited and imperfect, of all the tribes of voice.* 

I am aware that it is extremely difficult to ren- 
der the subject fully comprehensible without the 
aid of patient and repeated oral demonstration, 
or to put persons in possession of a practical rule 
of scoring by which those axioms may be ha- 
bitually applied — first in the reading lesson, and 
afterwards in spontaneous deliver}-. By means of 
such a scoring, however, they are susceptible both 
of easy comprehension r.nd application; and, by 



With the exception of the duck, which has no alternation, 
hut measures it> cadences by heavy poise aUme % and the Guinea 
hen, which marks its note from light to ' 

v > 1 



266 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

an attention to them, it will be found that the 
rhythmus of our language is one of rigid measure, 
and that its utterance, conformably to such meas- 
ure, is compatible with a forcible and harmonious 
delivery; that, above all, such a delivery will never 
be found to necessitate any disturbance to respira- 
tion. 

The truth of the foregoing remarks may be eas- 
ily demonstrated. The author could safely engage to 
take any single period, smoothly and harmoniously 
uttered in spontaneous speech, to repeat it in the 
tones of the speaker, to beat time to it with com- 
plete regularity as he repeated it, and then to 
write it out into score, with all the divisions of its 
respective cadences ; and to demonstrate the quan- 
tities of every foot and the measure of every pause 
by which those cadences were occupied. 

Might he be permitted to add that an adherence, 
in spontaneous delivery and in reading, to the 
scoring which would in such case be instituted, is 
the only secret by which he has been enabled to 
read and speak with emphasis many hours every 
day, without injury to lungs highly susceptible, 
and a constitution by no means vigorous. 

He ventures, moreover, to maintain that where 
there is no measure there can be neither smooth- 
ness nor harmony ; for harmony in speech is the 
combined effect of measure, melody, and euphony. 
But where there is neither smoothness nor harmony 
there is like to be perpetual hesitation and frequent 
impediment. Common as these blemishes are, there 
remain, however, a sufficient number of good speak- 



Barber* s Essay on Rhythmus. 267 

ers of English to demonstrate that cluttering and 

hesitation are rather the results of bad habits of 
deliver}-, than of necessities in the language. 

Let it be once admitted that our language is 
a language susceptible of musical admeasurement 
(and the examples by which these elements are il- 
lustrated are practical exhibitions of such admeas- 
urement), and the student may always be directed 
to« read as he scans and scores. 

The learner, while the system is yet new to him, 
will necessarily be more deliberate and formal than 
when a due comprehension of the metrical princi- 
ple is attained, and the habits of delivery incident 
to it are fully formed. He will have to ascend, in 
due gradation, from the mere abstract to the rhe- 
torical rhythmus ; that is to say, from that skeleton 
rhythmus which recognizes only the mere inherent 
qualities of the elements and syllables arranged, to 
that vital and more authentic rhythmus which results 
from the mingled considerations of sentiment, pause, 
and emphasis, and which assigns to each of these its 
just proportions of measured quantity. But the latter 
rhythmus, differing from the former only in its per- 
fection and expressive beauty, is based on the same 
simple and original principle of measure, founded 
on the alternate, voluntary action and re-action of 
the glottis ; and the pupil is not only to read his 
Milton and his Shakespeare as he would scan them, 
but is to speak as he would scan, whether address- 
ing an assembly or unbending in easy pleasantry at 
the tea-table. Conversational rhythmus is. indeed, 
very different in effect from the rhythmus i^f ora- 



268 A Plea for Spoken Language, 

tory; but it is rhythmus still, and rhythmus de- 
pendent upon the metrical proportions of cadences 
and feet. Its proportions are more difficult of de- 
tection than those of the more stately kind ; the 
proportions of all prose, more difficult than those 
of verse ; and the proportions of blank verse more 
difficult, because more diversified, than those of 
our heroic couplet. But the grace of all utterance 
must nevertheless depend upon proportion. There- 
fore, the student, the orator, or the man of the 
world, who would improve — the first, the impres- 
siveness of his instruction ; the second, the energy 
of his declamation ; and the third, the grace and 
harmony of his conversation, — will do wisely in cul- 
tivating his metrical perception as applicable to all 
spoken language. But he who would surmount an 
impediment of speech, natural or acquired, or 
emancipate himself from other troublesome and de- 
forming defects of utterance, should cultivate that 
perception as his only redeeming principle ; he 
should, especially, aim at a practical precision and 
harmony of cadence, which might insure their full 
effects to the noblest effusions of poetry and elo- 
quence. 

It is important to remark that the rhythmus of 
our language should first be studied through the 
medium of verse ; because it is there that it appears 
in its simplest and most perfect state ; and because 
the fixed and determinate arrangement of the syl- 
lables and cadences enable the teacher to lay down 
rules which assist in educating the ear ; while in 
prose composition, it is the ear and the perception 



Barber's Essay on Rkythmus. 269 

alone that can guide the reader in ascertaining the 
cadence ; it being the indispensable characteristic of 
prose, not only that it should be perpetually vary- 
ing in the length of the clauses and the recurrence 
of emphasis, but that it should proceed through 
all the practical varieties of cadence. In the midst 
of that variety, however, if smooth and flowing, it 
will be found susceptible of an accurate notation, 
and will preserve, subject to such notation, its met- 
rical proportions. 

So obvious and indisputable are the propriety 
and advantages of commencing the study of elocu- 
tion through the medium of verse, that the author 
does not believe it possible to acquire the art of 
reading prose with expressive harmony through the 
medium of prose alone ; while, on the contrary, he 
has never, in a single instance, known an individ- 
ual attain facility in reading our best poets, with- 
out being able to read prose, at the same time, 
with emphasis and harmony. 



Chapter III. 

Selections Scored for Illustration. 

By closely following the examples scored accord- 
ing to the previous explanations, the reader may 
satisfy himself how far his method of reading aloud 
may be in accord with the principles of rhythm, 
as illustrated in the application of accent, quantity, 
and pause to the extracts here given. The musical 
ear, of course, very quickly catches the rhythmic 
flow ; where the ear is sluggish from lack of culti- 
vation, it can soon be taught to recognize the ease 
with which language may be measured, and the 
beauty of such a measurement. 

In the first attempts to follow the scorings, the 
effect will be necessarily mechanical, but successive 
repetitions will accustom the reader to pronounce 
the words "trippingly on the tongue," — the voice 
passing smoothly from accent to accent without 
making the "beat" of the measure offensively ap- 
parent to the ear. 

The following points should be remembered in 
reading the scored extracts : 

Every bar, as in music, is to occupy the same 
time. This time is to be consumed in the pronun- 
ciation of the syllables contained in the bars, or 
(270) 



Selections for Illustration. 271 

the syllables and pauses, or the pauses alone, where 
the whole bar is devoted to rest. 

The mark [\ shows that a syllable is heavy or ac- 
cented ; the mark . ' . shows that a syllable is light 
or unaccented ; the mark P indicates that a rest or 
pause is to be made. 

A long syllable can be extended through the 
whole time of a bar, and may be made heavy or 
accented in its opening, and light at its termina- 
tion ; a short one can not fill a bar. 

When the mark *7 is omitted after a short heavy 
syllable, standing alone in a bar, a pause is to be 
made as if it were present. 

Lastly, the progress of the voice is to be dis- 
tinct from the accented to the unaccented syllable, 
or from heavy to light, and not from light to 
heavy. 

It will be observed that some of the exercises 
have the heavy (l\) and light (. '.) marks omitted. 
Where these marks are wanting, the position of the 
syllables in their relation to the bars will be suffi- 
cient indication to the reader. 

The use of the exercises will convince most per- 
sons that they are deficient in rhythm in reading 
both prose and poetry, particularly the latter. 

They mark the metre, but do not introduce either 
pause or time, consequently the beat becomes 
painful to the cultivated ear. By an exact obser- 
vation and application of the laws of rhythm, read- 
ing ceases to be laborious, and the sense will be 
rendered perfectly clear, as far as it is dependent 
on the capital point of the distribution of measure. 



272 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

The Hermit. 
•7 At the I close of the | day, | •* when the | hamlet is | still, | 

A .'. .-. A .". .'. A .-. A ••• .'. A .-. .-. A .-. 

«7 And I mortals | •* the | sweets of for | getfulness | prove, | 

A .-. A .-. A ••• A .-. .-. A .-. .-. A .-. 

*7 When I nought but the | torrent | * is j heard on the j 

A .'. A .-. .-. A .-. A .". A 

hill, I 

A ■-. 

•7 And I nought but the | nightingale's | song | *f in the | 

A ••• A .-. .-. A ••• .-. A .•. A' 

grove: | 
a .-. 

^ It was I thus, I •* by the | cave of the | mountain a j far, | 

A .-. .-. A .-. A ••■ .-. A .». .-. A .-. .-. A .-. 

•7 While his | harp rung sym | phonious, | *? a | hermit be- | 

A .-. .-. A .-. .-. A .-. .-. A ••• A .-. 

gan; | 

A ••• 

•f No I more with him | self, | *f or with | nature at | war, | 

A .-. A ■-. ••• A .". A' .-. .-. A .-. .-. A .'. 

•f He I thought as a | sage | •? tho' he | felt as a | man. | 

a' • A •. • A •. A .*. • A .". .• A • 



I I 



A ••• A 



Ah, I why I *7 all a I bandon'd to | darkness and | woe, | 

A.'. A.'' A' .-. •-. A .-. .-. A .-. .-. A.'. 

Why, I lone Philo | mela, | * that | languishing | fall? | 

A .-. A ••• ••• A .-. A' .-. A .-. .-. A .". 

•7 For I spring shall re | turn, | ^ and a | lover be j stow, | 
•7 And I sorrow | ^ no | longer thy | bosom en | thrall, | 

A .-. A ••• A ••• A .-■ ••• A ••• ••• A .-. 

•* But if I pity in | spire thee, | •* re | new the sad | lay ; | 

A .". .'. A .' ••■ A ••• A ••• A ••• ••• A -•• 

Mourn, | sweetest com | plainer, | man | calls thee to | 

A .'■ A .•• ••• A ••• A .'■ A 

mourn ; | 

A 

Oh, I soothe him | *7 whose | pleasures, | •y like | thine | pass 

A ."■ A .*. A A A •". A ••• A .\ A 

a I way ; | 

A .*. 

Full j quickly they | pass: j •» but they | never re | turn. | 



Selections for Illustration. 273 

Now I gliding re | mote, | •* on the | verge of the | sky, | 

A .-. A .'. ••• A ••• A .-. A .-. A .-. 

90 The I moon half ex | tinguished, I *f her | crescent dis- | 

A .-. A A* •■• A .-. A 

plays; | 

A .-. 

* But I lately I I marked | •* when ma | jestic on | high; | 



•* She I shone, | •* and the | planets were | lost in the | 

A .". A .-. A' ••• ••• A A 

blaze. I 
a .-. 

Roll I on, thou fair | orb, | ** and with | gladness pur | sue j 

A .-. A .-. .-. A/. A A A."- 

•f The I path | *1 that con | ducts thee to | splendor a- | 

A .'. A .-. A ••• A ■•• A 

gain; | 

A .-. 

•t But I man's faded | glory | •* what | change shall re- | 

A •-. A .-. A ••■ A ••• A 

new ? I 

A .-. 

Ah, I fool ! I •? to ex I ult in a I glory so | vain! | 

A. - . A. 1 . A .-. .-. A ••• ••• A ••• A ••• A.'. A.'. 

90 'Tis I night, | •* and the | landscape is | lovely no | more; | 

A .-. A ••• A .-. ••• A ••■ .'. A •■' ••• A .-. 

•* I I mourn, | •* but ye | woodlands I | mourn not for j 

A •■• A .-. A ■■• .-• A ■•■ ■•• A 

you; I 

A ••• 

•f For I morn is ap | proaching, | •? your | charms to re- | 

A .'. A ••• ••• A •■• ••■ A ••• A 

store, I 

A 

•f Per I fum'd with fresh | fragrance, | ■? and | glittering with | 

a' .-. A .-. •'• A A A 

dew. I 

A .-. 

•f Nor I yet | •? for the | ravage of | winter I | mourn; | 

A .-. A .-. A ••• A .-. ••• A ••■ ••• A 

Kind I nature | *f the | embryo | blossom will | save; | 

A .•. A .'. A ■■• A .'. ."• A .". •'• A ••• 

90 But j when shall | spring | visit the | mouldering | urn? | 

A .-. A A .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A ■■• 

Oh, I when shall it | dawn | * on the | night of the | grave: | 

A.'. A ».'. A ••• • A ••• ••■ A .-. A •-. 

I I 

A ••• A •■• 



274 <d PI> ea f or Spoken La7igitage. 

•7 It was I thus, I «7 by the | glare of false | science be- | 

A .-. .-. A .-. A' ••• ••• A .-. ••• A 

tray'd, | 
a .-. 

•7 That I leads to be | wilder; | ^ and | dazzles to | blind: | 

A .'. A ••• .". A •• A .-. A .-. .-. A ••. 

•7 My I thoughts wont to | roam, | •* from | shade | onward 

A ••• A .-. .-. A .'. A ••■ A .-. A 

to J shade, | 
a .-. a .-. 

•7 De I struction be | fore me, | *7 and | sorrow be | hind, | 

A ••• A ■•• ••• A ••• A ••• A ••• .-. A .-. 

"Oh, I pity! I great | Father of | light," | «f then I | cried, | | 

A ■•■ A .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A ••• A .-. .-. A .'. A .\ 

"Thy I creature, | *7 who | fain would not | wander from j 

A ■•■ A .-. A •■■ A ••• •-. A 

thee; | 

A ••• 

Lo ! I humble in | dust, | *7 I re | linquish my | pride: | 

A .'. A .-. .-. A .-. A ••■ • A .-. •• A 

•7 From I doubt and from | darkness, | thou | only canst | 

A ."■ A ••■ •• A .-. A .-. A .-. 

free." | | | 

A .-. A .-. A .'. 

•7 And I darkness and | doubt | ^ are now | flying a | way, | 

A ••■ A .'. .'. A .'. A .-. .-. A .-. .'. A .-. 

No I longer I | roam in de | jection for | lorn, | 

A. - . A ••■ ••• A ■■ ■•• A •• - . A .-. A .-. 

So } breaks on the | traveler, | | faint and a | stray, | 

A .-. A •. A -•• ••• A .-. A ■•• A .-. 

•7 The I bright and the | balmy ef | fulg:nce of | morn. | 

A' ■•• A .-. .-. A .'. .-. A .-. .-. A .-. 

I 

A .'. 

See I truth, love and | mercy | *7 in | triumph de | scending, | 

A •. A •■• .'. A ■• A ••• A .-■ ■• A .*. 

•7 And I Nature | all | glowing in | Eden's first | bloom ! | 

A ••• A .'. A .-. A •• .-. A ••• .'. A .". 

On the I cold cheek of | death, | smiles and | roses are | 

A ••• A ••• .-. A ■-. A .-. A .-. 

blending, | 

A 

•7 And I beauty im | mortal | •» a | wakes from the | tomb. | 

A ••• A .-. .". A .-. A •■• A .-. .-. A .-. 

I I —Beat tic. 



Selections for Illustration, 275 

Apostrophe to Light. 
Hail I holy | Light, | | offspring of | Heav'n | first | born, | 

A •■ A ••• A ••• A .-. A A .-. A .-. A .-. 

I Or of the E | ternal | | co-e | ternal | beam, | 



May I ex | press | thee | un | blam'd? | | •* Since | God | 

A .'. ••• A .-• A ••• A •■ A .-. A .-. A A .-. 

•J is I light. I 

A .-. A .-. 

•7 And I never | •* but in | unap | proached | light | 

A ••• A .-. A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. A .'. 

Dwelt from e | ternity, | | dwelt | then in | thee, | 

A ■•• ••• A .-. .'. A •• A ••• A ■•■ A .-. 

J Bright I effluence | •? of j bright | essence | incre | ate. | 

A •■• A •■ A ■•• .-• A ■•• A A A .". A .-. 

I I 

A ■•• A ■■• 

•f Or I hears't thou | rather, | | pure e | thereal | stream. | 

A ••• A ■•• A -•• A .'. A ••• A ••• ••• A .-. 

I 

A .-. 

•f Whose I fountain | who shall | tell? | | «f Be | fore the | 

A A A .-. A ••• A .-. A .-. A .-. A 

sun, I 

A •■• 

•? Be I fore the | Heav'ns | thou | wert, | | and at the | 

A ••■ A .-. A ••• A .-. A .'. A .-. A 

voice I 

A ••• 

•7 Of I God I I as with a | mantle, | *f didst in | vest | 

A •-. A ••■ A ••• A A A A .-. A .-. 

•* The I rising | world of | waters | | dark | *f and | deep | 

A A A ••■ A A. ••• A ■• A . - . A' .'. A .-. 

j Won from the | void | •* and | formless | infinite. | 

A •• A A ••• A ••• A A •-. .-. 

I I 

A .-. A .-. 

Thee I re | visit | now | •? with | bolder | wing, | 

A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. A ••• 

•f Es I cap'd the | Stygian | pool | | «7 though | long de- I 

A .-. A .-. A ••■ ••• A .-. A .-. A A 

tain'd | 

A .-. 



In I that ob | scure so | journ | | while | * in my | 

A A A .-. A .'. A .-. A 

flight I 



276 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

•7 Through | utter | •* and through | middle | darkness | 

A .-. A .-. A .-. ••• A .-. A 

borne, | 

A .-. 

•? With I other | notes | than to the Or | phean | lyre | 

A' .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. .-. .-. A .-. A ••■ 

•7 I I sung of I chaos | ^ and e | ternal | night, | 

A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A .-. A ••• A .-. A .-. 

Taught by the | heavenly | Muse | •* to | venture | down | 

A ••• .-. A ••• .-. A •-. A .-. A .-. A .-■ 

•f The I dark de | scent | | •* and | up to | re-as | cend | 

A ■•• A .'. A .-. A .'. A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. 

*f Though I hard | •* and | rare ; | | thee I re | visit | safe | 

A .-. A .-. A ••- A .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A .'. A --. 

•? And I feel thy | sov'reign | vital | lamp: | | *t but | 

A .-. A .-. A ••• A .-. A •■• A ••• A 

thou I 

A .-. 

•f Re I visit'st | not | these | eyes, | ^ that | roll in | vain | 

A ••■ A ••• A .'. A .-. A ••• A .'. A .'. A . - . 

•7 To I find thy | piercing | ray, | | *1 and | find | no | 

A ••- A .-. A ••• A .-. A •■• A .-. A •. A .\ 

dawn; | 

A ••• A .-. 

•f So I thick a | drop se | rene | *t hath | quench'd their | 

A .-• A .-. A .-. A .-. A ••■ A 

orbs I I 

A ••• A .-. 

•f Or I dim suf | fusion | veil'd | | | Yet not the | 

A ••• A .-. A ••• A .'. A ■•• A ••• A 

more | 
a .-. 

Cease I to | wander | | where the | muses | haunt, | 

A .-. .-. A ••• A ••• A .-. A .". A ••• 

Clear | spring | «f or | shady | grove, | ^ or | sunny | hill, | 

A ••• A ••• A ••• A ••• A. ••• A ••• A . - . A .-. 

I Smit with the | love of | sacred | song ; | ! •* but | 

A .-. A .-. .-• A ••• A ••• A ■■■ A ■■•' A 

chief I 

A .-. 

Thee | Sion, | •f and the | flow'ry | brooks be | neath | 

A .-. A .-. A .-. ••• A .-. A ••• A ••• 

•f That I wash | thy | hallow'd | feet, | *1 and | warbling | 

A' ••• A .-■ A .-. A .-. A .-. A ••• A 

flow, I 

A .-. 

I Nightly I *f I I visit : | | •? nor | some | times | «f for | 

A .'. A .-. A ■•• A .-. A .-. A ••• A .-. A .*. A 

get I 



Selections far Illustration, 277 

Those I other | two | equal'd with"| me in | fate, | 

A A •. A ■• A A ••• A ••• 

I So were | I | equal'd with | them in re | nown | 

A . A ••■ A". A A .-. .-. A .-. 

I Blind I Thamyris, | «f and | blind Mae | onides, | 

A • ■ A .-. A .•" ••• A .-. A A .-. .-. 

•" And Ty | resias | ^ and | Phineus, | | prophets | old: | 

A .-. .-• A •■• A A ••• ••• A .-. A A .". 

I 
A ••• 

Then | feed on | thoughts, | •* that | voluntary | move | 

A .-. A ••• A ••• A .-. A ••• A .-. 

•f Har I monious | numbers ; | •* as the | wakeful | bird | 

A ••• .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A .-. A .'. 

Sings I darkling | •f and in | shadiest | covert | hid | 

A •-. A ••• A ••• ■•• A .'. •-. A ••• A .-. 

I Tunes her noc | turnal | note. | | Thus with the | 

A .-. A .-. A ■•• A .-. A ••• A .-. A 

year | 

A ••• 

Seasons | •* re | turn, | «f but | not to | me | •? re | turns | 

A ••• A .-. A ••• A A .-• A .-. A .'. A .-. 

Day I •* or the | sweet ap | proach of | ev'n | «f and | morn; | 

A ••■ A ■•• ••• A ••• A •■• A ••• A ••■ A .-. 

I 
A .-. 



•7 Or I sight of I vernal | bloom, | •* or | summer's | rose, 

A ••• A ••• A ••• A .-. A A A .'. 

I I 

A ••• 

•7 Or J flocks, I *7 or | herds, | | ^ or | human | face di- | 



A A 

vine; | 



•f But I cloud I •? in I stead, | °* and | ever | during | dark | 

A ■•• A A A A ••• A .'. A .*. A .'. 

•f Sur I rounds me, | ^ from the | cheerful | ways of | men | 

A ••• ••■ A .-. .-. A .-. a' •■ A .-. 

Cut I off, I and for the | book of | knowledge | fair | 

A ••• A ■•• A ••• A A ••■ A .'• 

•* Pre I sented | ^ with a | uni | versal | blank | 

A ••• A ••• .'. A.". A ••■ A .-. 

*• Of I Nature's | works | | *f to | me | •* ex | pung'd and | 

A ••• A .-. A ••• A.". A .-. A."- A A 

raz'd I I 

A ••• A .'• 

•f And I Wisdom, | •* at | one | entrance, | | quite shut | 

A A A A .-. A .-• A A .-. A 

out. I I I 



278 A Plea for Spoken La7iguage. 

So much the | rather | thou, | ■* ce | lestial | Light | 

A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. A ' .-. A .-. .'. A .-. 

Shine | inward, | | «* and the | mind | •* through | all her I 

A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A ••• A .-. A .-. 

powers I 

A .-. 

*j Ir I radiate, | | there | plant | eyes, | j all | mist from | 

A .-. A ••• .-. A. - . A •'. A .-. A •■• A .-. A.". A 

thence | 

A 

I Purge and dis | perse, | | that I may | see | •* and | 

A .-. A .-. .-. A ••• A .'. .-. .-. .-. A .-. A 

tell I 

A .-. 

•f Of I things in | visible | •* to | mortal | sight. | 

A .-. .-. .-. A .-• .-. A .-. A ••• A .-. A .-. A .". 

— Milton. 

St. Paul's Defense before King Agrippa. 

Then A | grippa | said unto | Paul, | | Thou art per- | 
mitted to | speak for thy | self. | | | Then | Paul | stretched 
forth the | hand, | •* and | answered | ^ for him | self. | 

•^ I I think myself | happy, | | King A | grippa, | ^ be- | 
cause I shall | answer for my | self | this | day | ^ be | fore | 
thee, I touching | all the | things | ^ where | of | «t I am ac- | 
cused I ^ of the | Jews : | | wherefore | * I be | seech thee | 
•f to I hear me | patiently. | 

I I «7 My I manner of | life | ^ from my | youth, | | 
which was at the | first | ^ a | mong mine | own | nation | ^ 
at Je I rusalem, | know | all the | Jews; | | *f which | knew 
me I •* from the be | ginning, | if they would | testify ; | ^ that | 
after the | most | straitest | sect | ^ of our re | ligion | •" I j 
lived a | Pharisee. | 

I •* And I now | ^ I | stand | ^ and am | judged | •* for 
the I hope of the | promise | made of | God | «f unto our | 
fathers: | | ^ unto | which | promise | * our | twelve | tribes, | 
instantly | serving | God | day and | night, | hope to | come. 
I I I «7 For I which | hope's | sake, | King A | grippa, | 
I am ac I cused | ^ of the | Jews. | | | Why | should 
it be I thought | •* a | thing in | credible | *f with | you, | ^ 
that I God j 1 should | raise the | dead? | | | I | verily I 



Selections for Illustration. 279 

thought with my | self, | ^ that I | ought to | do | many things | 
contrary | •* to the | name of | Jesus of | Nazareth. | 

I I 1 Which I thing | ^ I | also | did | ^ in Je | rusalem: | 
•f and I many of the | saints | ^ did I | shut up in | prison, 
I tuning re | ceived au | thority | ^ from the | chief] priests; 
I •* and I when they were | put to | death, | *t I | gave | 
my I voice | •? a j gainst them. | | ^ And I | punished 

them I oft I ^ in | every | synagogue, | ^ and com | pelled 
them I * to bias | pheme; | | ^ and | being ex | ceedingly | 
mad a | gainst them, | *j I j persecuted them | even unto | 
strange | cities. | | Whereupon as I | went to Da- | 

mascus, I I •* with au | thority, | •* and com | mission | •* 
from the | chief | priests, | f at | mid | day, | O | king, | * I 
saw in the | way | ^ a | light from | heaven, | *f a | bove the | 
brightness | ^ of the | sun, | | shining | round a | bout | 
me, I «7 and | them which | journeyed | with me. | | ^ 

And I when we were | all | fallen to the | earth, | ^ I [ heard 
a I voice | speaking unto me, | ^ and | saying | •* in the | 
Hebrew | tongue, | | Saul, | | Saul, | why | persecutest 
thou I me? I | *f It is | hard | for thee | ^ to | kick a | gainst 
the I pricks. | | | ^ And I | said, | Who | art thou, | Lord? 
I «7 And he | said, | y I am | Jesus, | | whom thou 
j persecutest. | | | ^ But | rise | ^ and | stand upon thy | 
feet; | | ^ for | I have ap | peared unto thee | •» for | this | # 
purpose, I •* to j make thee a | minister | ^ and a | witness | 
both of I these | things | which thou hast | seen, | •* and of | 
those I things | •* in the | which | ^ I will ap | pear unto 
thee; | | «* de | livering thee | ^ from the | people, | ^ and 
from the | Gentiles, | ^ unto | whom | now I | send thee; | ^ 
to I open their | eyes, | ^ and to | turn them | ^ from | dark- 
ness I •yto I light, I «7 and from the | power of | Satan | ^ unto | 
God; I I •* that | they may re | ceive | •* for | giveness 

of I sins, I •* and in | hcritance | ^ a | mong | them which are | 
sanctified, | ^ by | faith | ^ that is in | me. | | | Whcreup- | 
on, I O I king A | grippa, | | I was | not diso | bedient | •" 
unto the | heavenly | vision: I I «7 but | showed | first | •'unto | 
them of Da | maseus, | •* and .it Je | rusalem, | •* and 

through j out j all the | coasts of Ju | dea, | * and | then | •* 



280 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

to the' | Gentiles, | | that they should re | pent | «y and | turn 
to | God, | «7 and | do | works | meet for re j pentance. | 
•7 For I these | causes | •* the | Jews | caught me in the | tem- 
ple, I I 1 and I went a | bout | ^ to | kill me. | | | Hav- 
ing I therefore | ^ ob | tained j help of | God, | •? I con | tinue | 
•7 unto I this I day, | witnessing | both to | small and | great, 
I saying | none | other | things | 7 than | those | •* which 
the I prophets | •* and | Moses ] ^ did | say, | •* should | come. 

I I I «7 That I Christ | f should | suffer, | f and that | he 
should be the | first | ^ that should | rise from the | dead, | 
•7 and should | shew | light | ^ unto the | people, | and | ^ to 
the I Gentiles. | | ^ And as he | thus | spake for himself, 

I I Festus I said with a | loud | voice, | | Paul, | thou art 
be I side thyself; | | much | learning | ^ doth | make thee | 
mad. I I I But he | said, | 7 I am | not | mad, j ^ most | 
noble I Festus, | *j but | speak forth the | words of | truth | «f 
and I soberness. | | | «y For the | king | knoweth of | these | 
things, I •* be I fore | whom | also | •T I | speak | freely: | 
•7 for I I am per | suaded | ^ that | none of | these | things | 
•f are | hidden from | him; | | ^ for | this | thing | *j was | 
not I done in a j corner. | | King A | grippa, | •* be- | 

lievest thou the | prophets? | | | *f I | know | •* that thou 
be I lievest. | | | Then | ^ A | grippa \ said unto | Paul, | 
Al I most I thou per | suadest | me | ¥ to be a | Christian. | 
•j And I Paul | said, | ^ I | would to | God, | * that | not 
only I thou, | •y but | also | all that | hear me | this [ day, | ^ 
were [ both | al | most, | •* and | alto | gether | such as | I am, | 
ex j cept I these | bonds. | | — Acts xxxvi., 1-29. 



The Ocean. 

Roll I on, I •* thou I deep | ^ and | dark | blue | ocean, | 

A .-. A. - . A •'■ A .'. A •■• A ••• A .*. A .'. .-. A .*. 

roll! I I I 

A .-. A ••• A .-. 

•f Ten I thousand | fleets | | sweep over | thee, | •* in | 

A A .-. A .-. A .-. A ••• •■• A ••• A ■". 

vain, I 
a .-. a .-. a ••• 



Selections far Illustration. 281 

Man I marks the | earth | •* with | ruin | | ^ hi.: con- | 

A .-. A A .-. A .-. A •■• A .-. A' .-. A 

trol j 

A .'. 

Stops with the I shore; | | upon the | watery | plain | 

A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A .-. 

90 The I wrecks are | all | thy | deed; | | nor doth re- | 

A .-. A A.". A.". A ••■ A .'. A 

main | 

A .'. 

* A I shadow of | man's | ravage, | | save his | own, | 

A ••• A .-• .-. A ••• A ••• A ••• A .-. A .'. A .-. 

When for a | moment, | | ^ like a | drop of | rain, | 

A .-. .'. A .'. A .-. A ••• ••• A .-. A •-. 

•7 He I sinks | *j into | thy | depths | *f with | bubbling | 

A .'. A .-. A •■• ••• A .-. A ••• A A 

groan, | 

a .-. 

90 With I out a I grave, | | •f un | knell'd, | •* un | coffin'd, I 

A ••• A .-. A .'. A .'. A .-. A .-. A .". A 

* and un | known. | 

A ••■ ••• A .-. A .-. A ••• 

•7 The armaments, | «f which | thunderstrike | *f the | walls | 

A ••• A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. 

90 Of I rock-built | cities, | | bidding | nations | quake, | 

A .-. A .-. A ••• A .-. A .-. A ••■ A .-. 

I 
A .-. 

90 And I monarchs | | tremble | ^ in their | capitals, | 

A ••• A .-. A .". A .'. A .'. ••• A •■ 

I * The I oak le | viathans, | •* whose | huge | ribs | make | 

A.. A' .-. A .-. A.". .-. A .-. A .-. A. 1 . A .*. 

•f Their | clay ere | ator | ^ the vain | title ) take, | 

A .-. A .-. A ■•• A ••• ••• A ••• A .-. 

•f Of I lord of I thee, | f and | arbiter of | war! | 

A •• A A .". A ••■ A ••• .-. ••• A ••• 

These are thy | toys, | | and as the | snowy | flake, | 

A .'. a'. - . A .". A A ••• A ••• 

•7 They | melt into thy | yeast of | waves, | * which | mar | 

A' ••• A .-. •-. A .'■ A ••• A .'• A .-. 

•f A I like the Ar | mada's | pride, | or | spoils of | Trafal- | 

A .-. A A .-. A .'. A.-. A .-. A .-. 

gar. I I I 

A .-. A .-. A .-. 

•7 Thy I shores are | empires, | | chang'd in | all | save | 

A .-. A A .-. A .-. A *" .-. A- - . A .'. 

thee, I 

A •■ 
P. S. L.--24. 



282 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

I •* As [ syria, | | Greece, | | Rome, | | Carthage, | 

A.-. A .-. A .-. A.". A .-. A.". A .-. A.". A 

I what are | they? | 

A .-. A ••• A .'. 

•7 Thy J waters | wasted them | | while they were | free, | 

A .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. .-. A ••• 

I •? And I many a | tyrant | since: | | •* their | shores | 

A .-. A .-. A .'. .'. A ••■ A .-. A .-. A .". A .-. 

•f o I bey I 

A .-. A .-. 

°7 The. I stranger, | slave, | *f or | savage; | •? their de j cay j 

A .-. A .-. A .". A .-. A .'. A ••• ••• A .". 

•7 Has I dried up | realms | ^ to | deserts, | | not | so | 



A .-. A .-. A •■• A .-. A .'. A ••• A 

thou, j I 



A 



Un I changeable, | | save to thy | wild | waves | play: | 

A .-. A ••• .-. A .'. A ••• •-. A .-. A .-. A .'. 

I 
A .-. 

Time | writes | no | wrinkle | ■* on | thine | azure | brow; | 

A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. A .". A .". A .". A .-. 

I Such as ere | ation's | dawn j •? be | held, | | thou | 

A .-. A .-. .'. A .-. A ■•• A .-• A ••• A .-. A .'. 

rollest I now. | 

A ••• A .'. A .-. A .'. 

Thou I glorious | mirror, | where the Al | mighty's | form | 



Glasses it | self in | tempests; | *t in | all | time, | 

A .-. .-. A .-. A .-. A .-. A .-• A .-• 

Calm I «y or con | vuls'd, | | «f in | breeze, | *f or | gale, | 

A .-. A .-. .-. A •-. A .-. A .-. A .-. A .*. A .-. 

•f or I storm, | 

A ••• A ••- 

I Icing the | pole, | or in the | torrid | clime | 

A ••. A .'. .'. A ••• A .-. ••• A .-. A .'. 

Dark | heaving; | | boundless, | j endless, | | •* and 

A ••• A ••• A .-. A .-. A .'. A ••■ A .-• A .". 

sub I lime. I 

A .-. A .-. 

•t The I image of E | ternity! | | •* the | throne | 

A ••• A •-. ••• ■-. A .-. .-. A .-. A ■•• A 

•f Of the In I visible ; | | even from | out thy | slime | 

A ••• ••• ••• A .-. .-. A .-. A ••• ••• A .-. A .-. 

•f The I monsters of the \ deep | «t are | made : | | each | 

A ••• A .'. ■•■ ••• A .-. A ••• A .-. A .-. A .'. 

zone I 

A .-. 

•7 O I beys thee; | | thou | goest | forth, | dread, | fathom- 

A ••• A .-. A .-. A ••• A ••• A .-. A .'. A .'. 

less, I *7 a I lone. | — Byron. 

A ••• A ••• A ••• A ••• 



Selections for Illustration. 283 



Without God in the World. 

1 The ex | elusion | «y of a Su | preme | Being, | * and of 
a I superin | tending | providence, | | tends di | rectly | * to 
the dc I struction | •* of | moral | taste. | | | «f It | robs the | 
universe | «f of | all | finished | *j and con | summate | ex- 
cellence, I I even in i | dea. | | | •f The | admi | ration of | 
perfect | wisdom and | goodness | ^ for | which we are | 
formed, | •? and which | kindles | *j such un | speakable | 
rapture | ^ in the | soul, | | finding in the | regions of | scepti- 
cism I nothing | ^ to | which it corres | ponds, | droops | 07 
and I languishes. | | ^ In a | world | ^ which pre | sents 

a I fair | spectacle | ^ of | order and | beauty, | ^ of a | vast | 
family, | | nourished | ^ and sup | ported | ^ by an Al- | 
mighty | Parent; | | ^ in a | world, | ^ which | leads the de- | 
vout I mind, | step by | step, | ^ to the | contem | plation | 
•7 of the I first | fair | «f and the | first | good, | | «y the | scep- 
tic I ^ is en I compassed with | nothing | ^ but ob | scurity, | 
meanness, | ^ and dis | order. | | 

When we re | fleet on the | manner | •" in | which the i- | 
dea of I Deity | •fis | formed, | | * we | must be con | vinced, | 
•* that I such an i | dea, | intimately | present to the | mind, | 
must I have a most | powerful ef | feet | •* in re | fining the | 
moral | taste. | | ^ Com | posed of the | richest | ele- 

ments, I * it em I braces, | ^ in the | character | ^ of a be | 
neficent | Parent, | ^ and Al | mighty | Ruler, | ^ what | ever 
is I venerable | *j in | wisdom, | | ^ what | ever is | awful | •* 
in au I thority, | | ^ what | ever is | touching | ^ in | good- 
ness. I I I 

Human | excellence | ^ is | blended with | many | imper- | 
fections, | •* and I seen under | many limi | tations. | | It 

is be I held | only in de | tached and | separate | portions, | •» 
nor I ever ap | pears | •" in | any | one | character, | | whole 
and en | tire. | | So that, | when, | •* in imi | tation of the | 

stoics, I «f we I wish to | form | •* out oi | these | fragments, | 
•^ the I notion | •* of a | perfectly j wise and | good | man, | 
* we I know it is a | mere | fiction | •» of the | mind, ** 
with j out any | real | being | •fin | whom | •fit is em | bodied | 



284 A Plea for Spoke?i Language. 

•7 and I realized. | | | ^ In the | be | lief of a | Deity, | 
these con | ceptions | ^ are re | duced to re | ality: | | •* 
the I scattered | rays | ^ofani | deal | excellence | ^ are con- | 
centrated, | | •* and be | cometh | real | attributes | •* of | 
that I Being, | •* with | whom | ^ we | stand in the | nearest 
re I lation, | «y who | sits su | preme | ^ at the | head of the | 
universe, | •* is | armed with | infinite | power, | •* and per- | 
vades | all | nature | •* with his | presence. | 

•f The I efficacy of | these | sentiments | ^ in pro | ducing | 
•^ and aug | menting | ^ a | virtuous | taste, | ^ will in | deed | 
•f be pro I portioned | «y to the | vividness | *j with j which 
they are | formed, | ^ and the | frequency | *f with | which 
they re | cur; | | •* yet | some | benefit | ^ will not | fail to 
re I suit from them, | | even in their | lowest de | gree. | 

•7 The i I dea | ^ of the Su | preme | Being | «y has | this 
pe I culiar | property ; | | ^ that | as it ad | mits of | no | sub- 
stitute, I so, I «y from the | first | moment ^ it is im | pressed, | 
•f it is I capable | ^ of con | tinual growth | «f and en- | 
largement. | | God | ^ him | self | ^ is im | mutable : | 

•* but I our con | ception | «f of his | character | * is con | tin- 
ually I «7 re I ceiving | fresh ac | cessions; | | *f is con | tin- 
ually I growing | more ex | tended and re | fulgent, | •* by | 
having trans | ferred upon it | new per | ceptions, | •* of | 
beauty, | ^ and | goodness ; | | » by at | tracting to it | self, | 
•7 as a I centre, | ^ what | ever | bears the | impress of | 
dignity, | order, | *j or | happiness. | | | ^ It | borrows | 
splendour, | •? from | all that is | fair, | ^ sub | ordinates | •* 
to it I self I all that is | great, | •? and | sits en | throned, | *f 
on the I riches of the | universe. | | — Rev. Robert Hall. 



I 



Chapter IV. 

Hill 's Essay. 

As all things relating to the proper expres- 
sion of the sentiments and passions of mankind 
claim a kindred relationship, the dramatic art in its 
highest and noblest sense is closely allied to, and, 
in a certain sense, inseparable from, the art oratori- 
cal. I have, therefore, thought it would be well 
to introduce, with slight alterations, as an addenda 
to the ideas presented in this volume concerning a 
study of the expressive attributes of spoken lan- 
guage, Aaron Hill's quaint essay on the nature 
of the human passions and their expression in voice 
and action. 

Its contents can not fail to throw light on the 
psychological features of the study of elocution, 
containing, as they do, the analysis (and the en- 
forcement of such analysis or the essential basis o( 
all studies in expression) of those mental phenom- 
ena known as passions, which have their outward 
manifestation in vocal and physical signs, — signs by 
which the soul speaks, as it were, through the me- 
dium of the senses. 

Hill's advice to the delineator of the passions 

can not fail, therefore, to furnish valuable food 

(285) 



286 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

for reflection to the orator, reader, or speaker, of 
whatever class, as well as to the actor, since each 
must obtain from it a certain insight into the spring 
of his emotional nature, and a stimulus to its 
manifestation in outward expression, — a matter of 
primary necessity to every student of expressive 
language. 

I think no more just and vivid enforcement of 
the necessity of "suiting the action to the word, 
and the word to the action," can be found outside 
of Shakespeare's memorable injunction "not to o'er- 
step the modesty of nature," — advice which, for 
three hundred years, has been looked upon as the 
living model for all who seek, through the medium 
of voice and action, 

"To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, 
To raise the genius and to mend the heart." 



AN ESSAY ON THE DRAMATIC PASSIONS, IN WHICH THEY ARE 
PROPERLY DEFINED AND DESCRIBED; WITH APPLICA- 
TIONS OF THE RULES PECULIAR TO EACH, AND SELECTED 
PASSAGES FOR PRACTICE. By Aaron Hill* 

"Weak of themselves are what we beauties call, 
It is the manner which gives strength to all." — Churchill. 

The first dramatic principle is the following: 
To act a passion well, the actor must never at- 
tempt its imitation till his fancy has conceived so 



* Aaron Hill was contemporary with Garrick. This essay was 
published 1779. 



Hill's Essay. 287 

strong an image, or idea of it, as to move the 
same impressive springs within his mind which 
form that passion when it is undesigned and nat- 
ural. 

This is absolutely necessary, and the only gen- 
eral rule. The practice of it shall be laid down 
clearly ; and it will be found extremely easy and 
delightful, both in study and execution. And the 
truth of its foundation that it is wholly built on 
nature is evident, beyond dispute, upon examining 
its effects in this deduction from their causes. 

First, The imagination must conceive a strong 
idea of the passion. 

Secondly, But that idea can not strongly be con- 
ceived without impressing its own form upon the 
muscles of the face. 

Thirdly^ Nor can the look be muscularly stamped, 
without communicating, instantly, the same impres- 
sions to the muscles of the body. 

Fourthly^ The muscles of the body (braced or 
slack, as the idea was an active or passive one), 
must, in their natural, and not-to-be-avoided conse- 
quence, by impelling or retarding the flow of the 
animal spirits, transmit their own conceived sensa- 
tion to the sound of the voice and disposition of 
the gesture. 

And this is a short abstract of the art, in its 
most comprehensive and reduced idea. Hut there 
must follow applications of the general rule, by par- 
ticular references, for practical use. 

And, first, it should be noted that there are only 
ten dramatic passion--; that is. passions which can 



288 A Plea for Spoken * Language. 

be distinguished by their outward marks in action ; 
all others being relative to, and but varied degrees 
of the foregoing. 

These are the dramatic passions : Joy, Grief, Fear, 
Anger, Pity, Scorn, Hatred, Jealousy, Wonder, 
Love. 

And now, for application of the rule to each of 
these in its particular distinction, in which an actor 
will be fully prepared for the expression of either, 
or all, of the above passions. 



Application I. — Of Joy. 

Definition. — Joy is Pride possessed of Triumph. 

It is a warm and conscious expansion of the 
heart, indulging a sense of present pleasure, and 
comparing it with past affliction. It can not, there- 
fore, be expressed without vivacity in look, air, 
and accent. But it will be proper, for distinguish- 
ing the modes of representing this and every other 
passion, to consider their effect on speeches, wherein 
that particular passion governs, which is about to 
be attempted by the speaker. 

And let it be the first and chief care to discover 
where the author has intended any change of pas- 
sions. For unless the passion is first known, how 
is it possible it should be painted? 

Joy, for instance, is the passion in the following 
transport of Torrismond : 

"Oh, heaven! she pities me. 
And pity, still, foreruns approaching love, 



Hill's Essay. 289 

As lightning docs the thunder. Tune your harps, 
Ye angels! to that sound; and thou, my heart, 
Make room — to entertain the flowing joy!" 

When the actor has discovered that the passion 
in this place is joy, he must not, upon any ac- 
count, attempt the utterance of one single word 
till he has first compelled his fancy to conceive an 
idea of joy, to suppose that he is, really, Torris- 
mond, — that he is in love with Leonora, and has 
been blessed, beyond his hope, by her kind decla- 
ration in his favor. 

But there is a shorter road to the same end, 
and it shall, in due place, be shewn him. When 
he believes himself possessed of such an idea of 
joy, that would not fail to warm a strong concep- 
tion, let him not imagine the impression rightly 
hit till he has examined both his face and air in 
a looking-glass ; for there only will he meet with 
a sincere and undeceivable test of his having 
strongly enough, or too slackly, adapted his fancy 
to the purpose before him. 

If, for example, his brow appears bent or cloudy, 
his neck bowing and relaxed ; if he sees his arm 
swing languid or hang motionless, and the joints 
of his hip, knee, and ankle not strong braced, by 
swelling out the sinews to their full extent; — all 
or any of these spiritless signs in the glass may 
Convince him that he has too faintly conceived the 
impression ; and, at once, to prove it to his own 
full satisfaction, let him, at that time, endeavor to 
speak out, with a voice as high raised as he pleases, 
he will find that, in that languid state o\ muscles, 



290 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

he can never bring it to sound joy ; no, not though 
the sense of the words were all rapture; but in 
spite of the utmost possible strain upon his lungs, 
his tone will be too sullen or too mournful, and 
carry none of the music of sprightliness. But if, 
on the contrary, he has hit the conception exactly, 
he will have the pleasure, in that case, to observe 
that his forehead appears raised, his eye smiling 
and sparkling, bis neck will be stretched and erect, 
without stiffness, as if it would add new height to 
his stature ; his chest will be inflated, and all the 
joints of his body will be high-strung and braced 
boldly. And now, if he attempts to speak joy, 
all the spirit of the passion w r ill ascend in his ac- 
cents, and the very tone of his voice will seem to 
out-rapture the meaning. 

As to the reason of all this, it is as clear as the 
consequence. For these are nature's own marks 
and impressions on the body, in cases where the 
passion is produced by involuntary emotions. And 
when natural impressions are imitated exactly by 
art, the effect of such art must seem natural. 

But because difficulties would arise in the prac- 
tice of so strong a conception, before fancy is be- 
come ductile enough to assume such impressions at 
will (as in the instance of joy, now before us), the 
actor, taking the shorter road above promised him, 
may help his defective idea in a moment by annex- 
ing at once the look to the idea, in the very in- 
stant while he is bracing his nerves into springiness ; 
for so the image, the look, and the muscles, all 
concurring at once to the purpose, their effect will 



Hill's Essay. 291 

be the same as if each had succeeded another pro- 
gressively. 

To convince himself of the natural truth of these 
principles, he has nothing to do but, first, to speak 
the foregoing example of joy, with his look grave 
or idle, and his nerves eased or languid ; and im- 
mediately afterwards repeat the same speech with 
a smile of delight in his eye, with his joints all 
high-braced, and his sinews extended — his own ear 
will become his acknowledged instructor. 



Application II. — Of Grief. 

Definition. — Grief is Disappointment void of Mope. 

It is a mournful and unstruggling resignation of 
defense to apprehension of calamity ; and, therefore, 
must require, to express it rightly, a sad look, 
careless air, and voice unraised and indolent. 

For a speech, wherein this melancholy reverse 
of the foregoing passion is expressed to the wish 
of an actor, we may borrow a second time from the 
same Torrismond : 

"Hut, I have been in such a dismal place! 
Where joy ne'er enters, which the sun ne'er cheers, 
Bound in with darkness, overspread with damps, 
Where 1 have seen — if I could say, I saw — 
The good old king — majestic ev'n in bonds! 
And, 'midst his griefs, most venerably great! 
By a dim, winking lamp, that feebly broke 
The gloomy vapors, he lay Stretch'd along. 
Upon th' unwholesome ground, his eyes cast low; 
And, ever and anon, a silent tear 
Stole down, ami tinkled from his aged cheek." 



292 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

A speaker, who would distress his imagination 
into a complete assumption of the sorrow expressed 
in these lines, will first consider that grief, being 
a passion the most opposite in nature to joy, his 
look that was before enlivened, must now, in a 
moment, take a mournful and declined impression. 
His muscles must fall loose and be embraced into 
the habit of languor. And then, no sooner shall 
his nerves have formed themselves to this lax dis- 
position for complying with the melancholy demand 
of the sentiments, than his voice also will associate 
its sound to the plaintive resignation of his gesture, 
and the result, both in air and accent, will be the 
most moving resemblance of a heartfelt and pas- 
sionate sorrow. Whereas, let him endeavor, with 
all possible industry, so to sadden his voice, with- 
out a previous accommodation of his look and his 
sinews to the faintness of the image intended, his 
tone will be hard, austere, and unfeeling, and 
more and more remote from the true sound of dis- 
tress, in exact proportion to the spring he had 
retained on his nerves, and the vigor that had 
overanimated his eye, or too ardently quickened 
his gesture. 

Application III. — Of Fear. 

Definition. — Fear is Grief, discerning and avoiding Danger. 

It is an apprehensive but unsinewed struggle be- 
twixt caution and despair. It can not, therefore, 
be expressed but by a look alarmed and watchful, 
with a voice and air unanimated. 



Hill's Essay. 293 

Take, for example of this passion, the following 

short speech from Clarence, in Shakespeare's Rich- 
ard the Third : 

"Oh, I have passed a miserable night! 
So full of fearful dreams! of ugly sights! 
That, as I am a Christian, faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night, 
Tho' 'twere to buy a world of happy days! 
So full of dismal terror was the time!" 

Here an actor, who would impress his imagina- 
tion with a natural idea of fear, will most effectu- 
ally represent it by assuming the same languor in 
look and in muscles, that was just here described 
as peculiar to grief. For then, if he would strike 
out, in an instant, the distinction by which fear is 
diversified from sorrow, let him only, in place of 
that resigned, plaintive, passive distress that is 
proper to grief, add (without altering the relaxed 
state of his nerves) a starting, apprehensive, and 
listening alarm to his look, keeping his eyes widely 
stretched, but unfixed ; his mouth still, open ; his 
steps light and shifting, — yet, his joints unbraced, 
faint, nerveless. And then will his whole air ex- 
press the .true picture of fear, and his voice, too, 
sound it significantly. 

But still, this caution let the actor take care to 
remember, — that he is not to begin to utter a sin- 
gle word till he has first reflected on ami felt the 
idea, and then adapted his look, and his nerves to 
express it. But as soon as this pathetic sensation 
has strongly and fully imprinted his fancy, let him 
then, and not before, attempt to give the speech 



294 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

due utterance. So shall he always hit the right 
and touching sensibility of tone, and move his audi- 
tors impressingly ; whereas, should he, with unfeel- 
ing volubility, hurry on from one overleaped dis- 
tinction to another, without due adaptation of his 
look and muscles to the meaning proper to the 
passion, he will never speak to hearts, nor move 
himself nor any of his audience, beyond the simple 
and unanimating verbal sense, without the spirit of 
the writer. 

Besides the reputation of a fine and pathetic 
speaker, and a feeler and inspirer of the passions, 
he will derive another benefit and grace from such 
a natural practice ; for the time which it must nec- 
essarily take, so to conform his look and nerves to 
the successive changes of the passions, will preserve 
his voice at every turn, by giving it due rests; allow- 
ing frequent and repeated opportunities for a recovery 
of its wasted strength, in easy and unnoted breathings. 
And yet, all such beautiful and pensive pausing 
places will, at the same time, appear to an audi- 
ence but the strong and natural attitudes of think- 
ing, and the inward agitations of a heart that is, 
in truth, disturbed and shaken. Whereas, the glib, 
round, rolling emptiness of an unpausing insignifi- 
cance in speaking (far from painting or resembling 
nature), represents no image at all to a discerning 
audience, but that of a player pouring out his 
words, without meaning, in a voice that neither 
touches, nor is touched by, nature. 



JlilTs Essay. 295 



Application IV. — Of Anger. 

Definition. —Anger is Pride provoked beyond regard of Caution. 

It is a fierce and unrestrained effusion of reproach 
and insult. It must, therefore, be expressed impa- 
tiently, by a fiery eye, a disturbed and threatening 
air, and a voice strong, swift, and often interrupted 
by high swells of choking indignation. 

To explain this passion, two examples will be 
necessary ; the first, not so much for containing the 
passion itself, as a great actor's rules for feeling 
and expressing it with nature's spirit and propriety. 
And I do this justice to Shakespeare with a double 
pleasure, as the instance carries with it a clear evi- 
dence how much the play-house, old tradition 
wrongs his memory ; for they report him a per- 
former of no power or compass, and but of low 
rate in his profession as to action. 

The second speech shall be for an example of 
the passion, with an explanation of two different 
modes, whereby nature has distinguished its ex- 
pression. 

Shakespeare's comes first, and is, at once, a rule 
and example : 

"Now imitate the action of a tiger; 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood; 
Lend fierce and dreadful aspect to the eye: 
Set the teeth close, and stretch the nostril wide, 
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
To its full height." 

It were impossible to draw a picture of anger 



296 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

more naturally, or an instruction more complete 
and clear for expressing it. 

First, The sinews being braced strong through 
all the joints of the body, the blood (as a conse- 
quence unavoidable) is summoned up, that is, im- 
pelled into violent motion. 

Secondly, The look becomes adapted, and adds 
fierceness, to the passion by the fire that flashes 
from the eye. 

Thirdly, The setting of the teeth and wide ex- 
pansion of the nostrils, follow naturally, because in- 
separable from an enraged bent of the eyebrow. 

And, fourthly, The breath being held hard, is in- 
terrupted or restrained by the tumultuous precipi- 
tation of the spirits, they must necessarily become 
inflamed themselves, and will communicate their ar- 
dor to the voice and motion. And thus, this pas- 
sion of anger is bent up to its full height, as Shakes- 
peare, with allusion to the spring upon the sinews, 
hath expressed it. 

I explain this passage to demonstrate his great 
skill in acting; and in hopes the players' observa- 
tion that this favorite genius of their own profession 
had ideas of the art (so plainly founded on the very 
principles sustained in this essay), will recommend 
it with more weight from the partiality of their af- 
fection. 

But to return. It here deserves reflection by how 
very small a separation nature has disjoined the out- 
lines of two passions, seemingly the least conform- 
able to one another. Few would imagine that the 
lineaments of joy and anger should unite in any 



llilTs Essay. 297 

point of strong resemblance ! And yet it is evident 
they only differ in a change of look. For, as to the 
intensely bracing up the nerves, that is the same, 
exactly, in both passions, and the sole distinction 
lies in this: — a smile upon the eye, in bodies 
strongly-braced, compels the voice to sound of 
joy, — while frowns, in the same eye (without the 
smallest alteration of muscles), immediately trans- 
form the gay sound to a dreadful one. 

The second speech, which will be necessary to 
explain the natural difference above declared, re- 
lating to two modes of anger, may be taken from 
the Orphan, and it is Chamont who speaks: 

"I say my sister's wrong 'd; 
Monimia — my sister; born as high, 
And noble as Castalio. Do her justice, 
Or, by the gods! I'll lay a scene of blood, 
Shall make this dwelling horrible to nature; 
I'll do it ! * Hark you, my lord! 

your son — Castalio — 

Take him to your closet, and there, teach him manners." 

Though the passion, throughout all this speech, 
is furious and intemperate anger, yet nature has 
divided it into two such different tones of utterance 
that, though it would be impropriety to a degree 
of folly to pronounce that part foregoing the star 
in the sixth line any other way than with a fierce. 
vindictive air, and voice high raised, insulting, 
and impatient, the remainder (from that star) 
must, on the contrary, be expressed by affectation 
of a low, constrained, and almost whispered com- 
posure, concealing a slow, smothered, inward ran- 



298 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

cor, by a muttered, ironical repression of the voice, 
strained through the teeth, in a pretended restraint 
of indignation. And when, from such reliefs, as it 
were, of passion, the rage breaks out again into 
shrill and exclamatory loudness, the representation 
becomes movingly varied and natural ; and the voice 
seems to preserve a kind of musical modulation 
even in madness. 



Application V. — Of Pity. 

Definition. — Pity is active Grief for another's Affliction. 

It is a social sadness of heart, propelled by an 
auxiliary disposition of the spirits giving tension 
to impressed and straining muscles. It can not, 
therefore, be expressed but by a look of sorrow, 
with a braced and animated gesture. 

Take the following example, from Belmour, in 
Fatal Extravagance : 

"Oh! could I feel no misery but my own, 
How easy were it for this sword to free me 
From every anguish that embitters life! 
But, when the grave has given my sorrows rest, 
Where shall my miserable wife find comfort ? 
Unfriended and alone, in want's bleak storm, 
Not all th' angelic virtues of her mind 
Will shield her from th" unpitying world's derision. 
Can it be kind to leave her so exposed?" 

If an actor should endeavor to touch the expres- 
siveness of the passion conceived in this speech, 
without having previously adapted his look to the 
sensation peculiar to pity, he would never (though 



Hill's Essay. 299 

his voice were the finest and most musical in nat- 
ure) be able to succeed in his purpose ; for, his 
tone would be sometimes too earnest and sharp, 
and sometimes too languid and melancholy. But 
let him, first, strain his muscles into the tension 
above required for expression of joy, and if then 
he adds the look that is proper to grief, the result 
of this mixed co-operation of contraries (of a vis- 
age peculiar to sorrow, with a spring on the mus- 
cles adapted to joy) will immediately produce the 
gesture, the voice, and the feeling expression of 
pity. And the more strongly he braces his nerves 
in opposition to the distress that relaxes his look, 
the more beautifully will he touch the concern, till 
his utterance paints it, as one may say, to the ear. 
For, by effect of a struggle that will be formed in 
his mind between the grief that has softened his eye 
and the force that invigorates his muscles, there 
will arise a pathetic and trembling interruptedness 
of sensible sound that must affect a whole audi- 
ence, with a participated concern in the passion. 



Application VI. — Of Scorn. 

Definition. — Scorn is negligent Anger. 

That is, anger against objects, which excite no 
esteem. It is, therefore, unbraced into easin 
See an example in the following answer of Baja/.et 
to Axalla's declaration, from Tamerlane: 

"Bear back thy fulsome greeting to thy master; 
Tell him, I '11 none on't. . 



300 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

*"Had he been a god, 
All his omnipotence could not restore 
The radiancy of majesty eclipsed.* 
For aught besides, it is not worth my care : 
The giver and his gifts are both despised!" 

In this speech, the beginning and the end con- 
tain manifest scorn. But in the middle part, which 
is, therefore, distinguished between the stars, the 
passion rises into nervous and exclamatory violence. 
All the rest, to be rightly expressed in the acting, 
will require the seeming contrast of an unsinewy 
slackness of muscles to a look that flames with an- 
ger and insult. 

There is, however, (and a skillful actor will al- 
ways remember to note it,) a gayer and very dif- 
ferent species of scorn, on less solemn occasions, 
where the lowness of figure, or of power, in some 
slight, insignificant subject, or the unalarming im- 
pertinence of some vain, but not dangerous, levity, 
only calls for contempt, unconnected with anger. 
And this lighter expression of scorn will be hit 
most effectually by preserving the same disposition 
of muscles that was required in the other, but ac- 
companied by a look that is smiling and placid, 
instead of the frown that took place in the former. 



Application VII. — Of Hatred. 

Definition.— Hatred is restrained yet lasting Anger. 

It is a close, abhorrent, hostile disposition of the 
heart, averted by ill-will, but guarded by precau- 



IIHTs Essay. 301 

tion. To express it rightly, it demands a look of 
malice, with a gesture of restrained impatience. 

Bajazet will give example in another speech, con- 
cerning Tamerlane: 

"The Tartar is my bane — I can not bear him, 
One heaven and earth can never hold us both. 
Still shall we hate, and, with defiance deadly, 
Keep rage alive — till one be lost, forever. 
As if two suns should meet in the meridian, 
And strive, in fiery combat, for the passage." 

Unless an actor has accustomed his reflection to 
examine distinctions in passion, he will be sur- 
prised to be told in this place that there is no 
other difference but the turn of an eye in the ex- 
pression of hatred and pity. Yet his experience 
will find it a palpable truth. For, first, pity and 
hatred, both of them require the same intense 
brace upon the joints and sinews ; and then the 
characterizing distinction between them is this (I 
mean only what regards their expression, that is, 
the outward marks they impress on the body) : 
pity, by a look of inclination, implies affection and 
desire to relieve ; whereas, hatred, by averting the 
visage, and accompanying that look of abhorrence 
with gestures of malice and disapprobation, pro- 
claims animosity and purpose of mischief. The 
nerves must be braced in both passions alike, be- 
cause pity is earnest and hatred is earnest, and 
therefore, the muscles, to express either passion 
(however opposite they may seem to each other), 
must be springy, and bent into promptitude. 

But the look must be different in each, because 



302 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

pity is earnest for beneficence; and therefore, the 
eye (which is the show-glass of the soul) must be 
impressed with ideas of goodness, whereas hatred is 
earnest for mischief, and the eye must, in conse- 
quence of a malignant intent in the will, reflect an 
image of meditated evil. 



Application VIII. — Of Jealousy. 

Definition.— Jealousy is doubtful Anger struggling against Faith and Pity. 

It is a painful softness in the heart, resisted by 
a vindictive disposition in the spirits. It can not, 
therefore, be expressed without a doubtful variation, 
both in look and air, divided and suspended be- 
twixt wavering passions. 

But there are two degrees of jealousy, and they 
require different modes for their expression. So 
that two examples will be necessary, and Othello 
will supply us with them both. 

We shall see in this that follows that first stage 
of jealousy, which is alarmed, but doubtfully sus- 
picious, and not yet confirmed into the violence of 
positive belief and its warm consequences : 

"By heaven, he echoes me! 
As if there were some monster in his thought 
Too hideous to be shown! — Thou dost mean something — 
I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that, 
When Cassio left my wife, — What didst not like? 
And when I told thee he was of my counsel 
In my whole course of wooing, thou criedst 'Indeed!' 
And didst contract and purse thy brow together, .... 

If thou dost love me, 
Show me thy thought." 



I 



1 1 ill's Essay. 303 

For expressing, in a natural manner, these un- 
fixed, apprehensive, reluctant first dawnings of 
jealousy, the brace upon the nerves must be but 
conformable to the unsettled idea. It must be half 
bent and half languid. The look, too, under the 
same inconclusive alarm, must act its part with the 
indolent muscles ; that is, it must partake of two 
opposite passions, — anger, as disposed to catch 
flame, under sense of such injury ; and pity, as 
unwilling to give way to distrust against an object 
so endeared by affection. 

The other species, or rather degree of this pas- 
sion, is where jealousy extracts confirmation from 
appearances, which concur towards a proof. 

In this case, the nerves must assume the strong 
brace that is proper to anger ; and the look must 
express a turbulent mixture of anguish from a strug- 
gle between fury and sorrow. See Othello again : 

"I think my wife be honest — and think she is not! 
I think that thou art just, and think thou art not! 
I'll have some proof. Her name that was as fresh 
As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black 
As mine own face! If there be cords or knives, 
Poison or fire, or suffocating streams, 
I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied!" 

We see in this speech doubt inflamed into agony. 
It is still, indeed, distrust ; but it is, at the same 
time, indignation and bitterness. And this is the 
utmost pitch whereto jealousy (as jealous)-) can by 
nature extend itself. For the least step beyond it 
is anger, which, unless mixed with and restrained 
by some tempering conceit of uncertainty, is no 



304 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

longer the jealousy we are considering, but a dis- 
tinct and new passion, the effect, it is true, of the 
former, yet itself quite of a different species. So 
that jealousy can be divided no farther than into 
the two foregoing distinctions. 



Application IX. — Of Wonder. 

Definition. — Wonder is inquisitive Fear. 

It is an ebb of spirits rushing back upon the 
heart, but leaving an alarm upon the muscles that 
invigorates them towards defense and opposition. 
No actor can imitate this passion with its natural 
propriety and force without dividing its idea into the 
two following degrees of distinction : 

The first degree is amazement — the second is as- 
tonishment. In amazement, the conception catching 
alarm from the image of something strangely or un- 
naturally terrible, the nerves, upon a start of ap- 
prehension, brace at once into an involuntary rigor 
of intenseness, under a defensive disposition of the 
will, that would resist and repel the object. 

But, in astonishment, the recoil of the animal 
spirits, hurried back in too precipitate a motion, 
drives the blood upon the heart with such oppres- 
sive redundance, as retarding circulation, almost 
stagnates the vital progression ; and, arresting the 
breath, eyes, gesture, and every power and faculty 
of the body, occasions such an interruption of their 
several uses as would bring on an actual cessation ; 
but that the reason, struggling slowly to relieve the 



Hill's Essay. 305 

apprehension, gives a kind of hesitative articulation 
to the utterance, and a gradual motion and recovery 
to the look, the limbs, and the countenance. 

In the following lines from Hamlet, we shall see 
an instance of the first degree of wonder, while it 
reaches only to amazement, and suspends, not stag- 
nates, the free motion of the blood and spirits : 

"O day, and night! — but this is wondrous strange! 

and, again : 

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us! 
Be thou a spirit of health — or goblin damn'd, 
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, 
Be thy intents wicked or charitable, 
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape 
That I will speak to thee!" 

There is manifest, in the beginning of this speech, 
the starting spring upon the nerves that follows the 
first shock of apprehension. 

In the middle is discerned, as plainly, the slow, 
struggling, reasoning recollection of the shaken un- 
derstanding ; and in the two concluding lines, the 
resolution of recovered firmness to examine and de- 
termine steadfastly. 

But in examples where the passion rises to aston- 
ishment, as in this below, from Belmour, see an 
almost total deprivation, for the time, of all the 
powers of sense and motion, except only that ex- 
erted reason, laboring against oppressive congela- 
tion, barely seems to hold breath in by force, and 

make life sensible: 
P. s L.— *6. 



306 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

"I feel my blood 
Cool and grow thick; as melted lead flows heavy, 
And hardens in its motion. A little longer, 
And I, who have heart already marble — 
Shall petrify throughout — and be — a statue." 

It would be impossible, after an actor had con- 
ceived an idea correspondent to the picture in the 
words in this, not to impress every lineament of the 
passion upon his look, and every attitude of it upon 
his gesture ; and then, the tone of his voice, con- 
curring, can not fail to sound the slow, conflicting 
struggle of astonishment. 



Application X. — Of Love. 

Definition. — Love is Desire kept temperate by Reverence. 

It is expanded softness in the heart, indulged 
attachment in the fancy, and an awe (from fear to 
be distasteful where we wish to please), upon the 
spirits. It can never, therefore, rightly be ex- 
pressed without a look of apprehensive tenderness, 
that softens a high-braced and animated air and 
casts a modest cloud of diffidence over too quick a 
sense of transport. And thus we are come, at last, 
to a passion the true name whereof might be legion ; 
for it includes all the other, in all their degrees 
and varieties. It has, therefore, been postponed, 
and kept to bring up the rear ; though, from the 
weight and extent of its influence, it ought to 
have taken place in the front of the number. 

There is, however, independent of its auxiliary 






Hill's Essay. 307 

and occasional passions, a distinct air and gesture, 
look, and manner of speaking peculiar to love, in 
its serene and unruffled impressiveness. And be- 
cause there are not many actors in whom nature 
has done all that appears necessary for expressing 
the gentleness and the softness, together with the 
freedom and the fire, which unite their contraries, 
of setting off the spirit of this passion, it is neces- 
sary to reflect a little on the reason why it is com- 
mon to see love unfeelingly, affectedly, and even 
ridiculously acted. 

The lazy cause is want of tenderness, or at least 
of application, to conceive the true idea. For this 
passion, more than any other, lends a tongue to 
every look, and sheds an eloquence on every mo- 
tion. It can not bear, then, a cold, formal empti- 
ness ; a big, broad, mellow troll of smooth, unani- 
mated wordiness. It asks for soul in thought, air, 
movement. It exacts such strict confederacy be- 
tween the heart, the mien, the eye, and tongue, 
that it disdains to pardon a bold, voluble, and 
lecture-like (however musical and sounding) insig- 
nificancy. The idea, then, to be conceived by one 
who would express love elegantly is that of joy 
combined with fear. It is a conscious and trium- 
phant swell of hope, intimidated by respectful ap- 
prehension of offending where we long to seem 
agreeable. It is the exhalation of a soft desire, 
which to the warmth inspired by wishes, joins the 
modesty of a submissive doubtfulness. 

It is complaint made amiable by graccfulm 
reproach endeared by tenderness, and rapture 



308 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

awed by reverence. Without a previous fixed idea 
of the passion, in this native light, the finest of all 
human voices would in vain attempt to touch it 
tenderly. And this might be immediately found 
evident to the attentive actor's ear, in making trial 
on some speech, like this of Edgar, in the Tragedy 
of Athelwold : 

"Why have those piercing eyes so ill distinguish'd 
The reverence of my ardor? License and Freedom 
Would, in your presence, be dissolv'd to awe, 
And flow in sighs to soften you. This hand! 
Oh! give it me — and I will swear upon it 
That my charm'd spirits never rose, till now, 
In such a tide of ecstasy! — that heaven 
Has left your sex in shade to light up you 
With every grace that swells desire in mortals, 
Or gives your guardian angel pride to view you!" 

Here, if the nerves are braced with proper 
warmth to the high pitch of joy, and the inclin- 
ing look divided gracefully betwixt a tender fear 
and a triumphant pleasure, every accent will con- 
fess the passion in a soft, impressive touchingness. 
Whereas, without such previous disposition for at- 
taining the idea, the vague, undirected tone would 
sometimes sound too faint, sometimes too harsh ; 
and always insincere, declamatory, and unstriking. 

I have done with the application of the general 
principle to particular examples of the passions. 

I proceed to a justification of the mechanism in 
the rules foregoing by demonstrating its foundation 
on clear, natural causes. 

I will only interpose a short digression for dis- 



HUT s Essay. 309 

covering the reason why it is so rare to see an 
actor elegantly qualified to represent a love part. 
I said before, and shall produce the proof immedi- 
ately, that love includes, occasionally, all other 
passions. 

He, then, who is not master of a power to rep- 
resent them all in the distinct propriety of each, 
must, of necessity (so far as his defect in any one 
of them extends), be found an incomplete and dis- 
approved sustainer of a lover's character. 

And that every other of the passions hitherto 
described occurs, occasionally, in that comprehen- 
sive one of love, see proofs in these plain instances : 

An Example of Joy in Love. 

Thou art a cold describer ! — oh, the day! 

The dear remember'd day! when, at the altar, 

Where, in thanksgiving, I had bow'd to heaven, 

Heaven seem'd descending on me — my rais'd eye 

Met her flash'd charms amidst a gazing crowd, 

Who, from the scaffolded cathedral's sides, 

Poured their bold- looks upon me. Greatness and languor 

Flow'd in a soften'd radiance from her mien, 

And kindled every shrine with new divinity ! 

Sweetness sat smiling on her humid eye-halls, 

And light-wing'd fancy dane'd, and rlam'd about her! 



An Example oi- Grief in Love. 

Oh! what a dreadful change in my poor heart 

Has one weak moment made! — scorn'd, like the vile, 

Dishonor'd, infamous; expell'd forever, 

I miht become a wand'rer round tin- world; 



3 1 o A Plea for Spoken Language. 

Meet cold and hunger, poverty and shame, 

Anguish and insult — better all, than man! 

The faithless murd'rer, man! What am I doom'd to! 

Whom have I trusted! — oh! revenging heaven! 

See my distress, and punish me with more. 

I can not be too wretched. Begone, deceiver, 

I would not curse thee — I will not wish thee pain; 

But never, never, let aie see thee more! 



An Example of Fear in Love. 

She's gone — and I am left, to walk the world, 
Like a pale shade, that shuns the paths of men. 
Light searches me too deep: my conscious soul 
Starts inward — and escapes the eye of day. 
Oh! bosom peace, now lost! — were there, in guilt, 
No weight more painful, than this lour of brow, 
Yet, shun it all, — you, who have hearts, like men- 
Thai you may raise the front, and look, like virtue. 



An Example of Anger in Love. 

Patience! — curse patience — why dost thou talk of patience, 

With the same breath, the same cold, tasteless calmness, 

That spoke distraction to me? Hast thou not told me 

That she confesses it? that this proud beauty, 

This haughty, fierce, disdainful, marbly virtue, 

That scorn'd my honest passion — this austere frowner, 

Has been — perdition on the name! 'twould choke me. 

Hast thou not fir'd me with the basest truth 

That ever stung the heart of a fool lover? 

And dost thou talk of patience! — give it to statesmen; 

I spurn the servile lesson. Patience, saidst thou ? 

Rage and despair have broke upon my soul 

And wash'd away all patience. 



Hill's Essay. 



An Example of Pity in Love, 

When the blood boils, and beauty fires the soul, 
What will the tongue not swear? Discretion, then, 
Does with a peacock's feather fan the sun. 
Net,, in the midst of all my wild desires, 
Thou wert the warmest wish my heart pursu'd. 
My love to thee was permanent and strong. 
Thy beauties were my waking theme, and night 
Crew charming by soft dreams of thy perfection. 
Still I regard thee with the same desires; 
Gaze, with the same transporting pity, on thee, 
As dying fathers bless a weeping child with. 



An Example of Scorn in Love. 

Yes! virtue! — Thou hast every well-known virtue 

That thy whole sex is fam'd for: — kind, soft virtues! 

Spleen, affectation, pride, ill-nature, noise, 

Lightness in reason, insolence in will, 

Giddy ambition's ever-varied whirl, 

Wishes that change till ev'n distaste grows pleasing, 

And tenderness, all tir'd, makes room for fury. 

Virtues? — immortal gods! — Your best weigh'd virtues 

Serve but to smile deceit from heart to heart, 

Till, for your idol, dear variety! 

Loathing an angel's form, you grasp a devil's! 



A\ Example of Hatred i\ Love, 

Bane of my peace, life, fame! — my sick'ning soul 
Shrinks with indignant shame from her idea ! 
All that she once betray'd me to believe 
Turns poison on my fancy. Each loath 'd beauty 

Serves but to feed the tire with which I hate her. 
1 know her to the heart; I see her, now, 



312 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

Not thro' her smiles — I reach her thro' her falsehood, 
View her all black with guilt, all base with infamy. 
Light and elusive as the wand'ring fires 
Which gleam, destructive, on the edge of night, 
And tempt to waylaid fens the flatter'd traveler. 
Oh! I could curse her all-bewitching charms, 
That (shun'd and hated), still persist to hold me, 
And hang their drowning grasp about my fancy. 



An Example of Jealousy in Love. 

But why, and whence, her tears? those looks? her flight? 

That grief, so strangely stamp'd on every feature? 

If it has been that Frenchman — what a thought! 

How low, how horrid, a suspicion, that! 

The dreadful flash at once gives light, and kills me. 

An infidel! a slave! — A heart like mine 

Reduced to suffer from so vile a rival! 

But tell me, didst thou mark them at their parting? 

Didst thou observe the language of their eyes? 

Hide nothing from me! — Is my love betray 'd? 

Tell me my whole disgrace. — Nay, if thou tremblest, 

I hear thy pity speak, tho' thou art silent. 



An Example of Wonder in Love. 

I stand immovable — like senseless marble! 
Horror had frozen my suspended tongue, 
And an astonish'd silence robb'd my will 
Of power to tell her — that she shock'd my soul. 
Spoke she to me? Sure I misunderstood her! 
Could it be to me, she left! — what have I seen! 
Orasmin! what a change is here! she's gone! 
And I permitted it — I know not how. 



Hill's Essay. 313 



An Example of Love, Unmixed and Solitary. 

Oh, let them never love who never tri'd! 

They brought a paper to me to be sign'd; 

Thinking on him, I quite forgot my name, 

And writ, for Leonora, Torrismond. 

I wont to bed, and, to myself, I thought 

That I would think on Torrismond no more. 

1 ( los'd my eyes, but could not shut out him. 

Tumbling, I tri'd each downy corner's aid 

To find if sleep was there; but sleep was not. 

Fev'rish for want of rest, I rose and walk'd, 

And by the moonshine to my window went; 

There, hopeful to exclude him from my thoughts, — 

But, looking out upon the ncighb'ring plains, 

Soft sighs, unsummon'd, whisper'd to my soul, 

There fought my Torrismond. 

I believe that it remains evident by this time 
that the lover's comprehends all serious dramatic 
characters that an actor can expect to shine by. 
Let us cease, then, to wonder that we can so sel- 
dom see it touched upon the stage. 

And now we consider the natural foundation of 
that mechanism in the art described whereby the 
springs are moved to represent the passions out- 
wardly. 

It will have been observed that their specific dif- 
ferences are far from being so remote as the re- 
pugnance of the passions would appear to place 
them. 

See this in all the ten examples: Joy is ex 

pressed by muscles intense and a smile in the eye ; 

anger, by muscles intense and a frown in the eye ; 
p. s 1.-27. 



314 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

pity, by muscles intense and a sadness in the eye ; 
hatred, by muscles intense and aversion in the eye ; 
wonder, by muscles intense and an awful alarm in 
the eye ; love, by muscles intense and a respectful 
attachment in the eye ; grief, by neither muscles 
nor eye intense, but both languid ; fear, by mus- 
cles and look both languid, with an alarm in eye 
and motion. 

Scorn, by muscles languid and neglected, with a 
smile in the eye to express the light, or a frown 
in the eye for the serious species. 

Jealousy, by muscles intense and the look pen- 
sive ; or the look intense and muscles languid, 
interchangeably. And if the natural causes of 
such near resemblance in the mechanism of op- 
posite passions be inquired into, they will all be 
evidently deduced from the reflections following. 

Questions and Answers. 

Demonstrating the natural Causes of the Mechanism in the Rules foregoing. 

Question I. Why is joy expressed by muscles 
intense and a smile in the eye? 

Answer. Joy is pride possessed of triumph. 
Pride and triumph give inflated ideas, and high 
raised and bold conceptions. But the muscles must 
be intense when they express elevation, because 
relaxed nerves are peculiar to depressed conception, 
and the eye must be smiling before it can paint 
satisfaction, because a frown would imply discon- 
tent ; and to conceive joy with displeasure is a 
false, because an unnatural, impression. 



Hill's Essay. 315 

Ques. II. Why is anger expressed with muscles 
intense and a frown in the eye? 

Ans. Anger is pride provoked beyond regard 
of caution. Uncautious pride exults in menaces 
and arrogance. But neither arrogance nor menaces 
can consist with relaxation of the nerves, because 
slack muscles are a consequence of weak and faint, 
not boastful and avowed, ideas. 

The eye, too, in this passion, is overclouded by 
a frown, because it catches sense of indignation 
from vindictive and distasteful images ; and not to 
show that outward mark of the mind, agitation in- 
wardly would be assuming a disguise to cover sen- 
sibility, — a prudence never natural in anger, because 
its great characteristic property is rash and open 
insult. 

Ques. III. Why is pity expressed by muscles 
intense and a sadness in the eye? 

Ans. Pity is active grief for another's afflictions. 
Rut we can never sincerely mourn distresses when 
we do not feel them touchingly. Whatever we so 
feel we look, — by natural inclination and necessity. 
No visage but a sad one, therefore, can consist 
with the distress of pity. But the muscles, to ex- 
press this passion, must be braced ; because, what- 
ever we pity we intensely wish to give relief to; 
and since the will, when active, compels active 
fibers, it remains a natural consequence that this 
seeming contrariety between the gesture and the 
look is the true medium to express compassion ; 
for, being nature's own effect, when she impresses 
marks of pitv in her usual manner, art, assuming 



3 1 6 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

the same outward springs to work by, can not fail 
to represent her with exactness. 

Ques. IV. Why is hatred expressed by muscles 
intense and aversion in the eye? 

Ans. Hatred is restrained yet lasting anger. 
Anger inflames the will, and as the will, becom- 
ing active, actuates the muscles, they must neces- 
sarily be strained hard, and prompt to violent 
exertion when they would express this passion 
properly. But then as it is anger not thrown out, 
but patient, covered, and restrained, the eye with- 
draws itself from a distasteful object to imply aver- 
sion in restraint of fury ; and herein consists the 
natural distinction that paints hatred on the out- 
ward lineaments. 

Ques. V. Why is wonder expressed by muscles 
intense and an awful alarm in the eye? 

Ans. Wonder is inquisitive fear. As it is in- 
quisitive, it is steadfast, and demands firm muscles. 
But as it is fear it can not justly be expressed 
without the marks of apprehension and alarm. 
Were this alarm a too-disturbed one, full of mo- 
tion and anxiety, it would paint fear instead of 
wonder, and would carry no consistence with braced 
muscles. It is, therefore, firmly nerved, because 
inquisitive with purpose of defense ; and so this 
application of alarm, with resolution to examine 
steadfastly, must constitute a nervous, awful, and 
fixed attentiveness, and give the picture of the 
passion naturally. 

Ques. VI. Why is love expressed by muscles 
intense and a respectful attachment in the eye? 



Hill's Essay, 317 

Ans. Love is desire kept temperate by rever 
ence. Desire must be attached, and, as in love, 
its object is a visible one, desire of objects visible 
must show itself most plainly in the eye. But 
then our fear to give distaste, attempering desire 
with reverence, creates respectful softness in the 
look and attitude. And this external softness, be- 
ing strengthened by an inward brace upon the 
nerves (the natural consequence of hope and joy), 
enlivening reverence by effusion of a sparkling 
pleasure, there is transmitted to the eye, the ear, 
and heart of an attentive audience, the same im- 
pression which the actor's spirits are impelled by. 

Oues. VII. Why is grief expressed by neither 
muscles nor look intense, but both languid ? 

Ans. Grief is disappointment void of hope ; but 
muscles braced intense imply hope strongly, and a 
spirited vivacity in the eye is the effect of pleasure 
and elevation. These are naturally consistent with a 
passage that depresses, which grief manifestly does, 
because depression slackens all the nerves ; nerves 
unbraced deject the look, and air, in necessary 
consequence, and, therefore, a relaxed mien and 
languid eye must form the truest picture of a nat- 
ural sorrow. 

Ques. VIII. Why is fear expressed by languid 
look and muscles, with alarm in eye and motion? 

Ans. Fear is grief discerning and avoiding dan 
ger. As it is grief, it must depress the spirits 
and unbrace the muscles, whence the languid air 
becomes adapted and characteristic. But, as it is 
grief, not careless and resigned, but apprehensive. 



3 1 8 A Plea for Spoken Language. 

fugitive, and starting, it demands a lightness in the 
motion, with a watchful, though unanimated, sharp- 
ness in the eye, because the fancy has a conceived 
idea of threatening mischief; but the object, over- 
charging the imagination, has relaxed the uncon- 
curring fibers into a debility, unable to obey the 
will, which, therefore, but evades, and not resists, 
the danger. 

Ques. IX. Why is scorn expressed by languid 
muscles, with a smile upon the eye in the light 
species, or a frown to hit the serious? 

Axs. Scorn is negligent anger. It insinuates, 
therefore, by a voluntary slackness or disarming of 
the nerves, a known or a concluded absence of all 
power in the insulted object, even to make defense 
seem necessary. And the unbraced muscles are 
assisted in this show of contemptuous disregard by 
an affected smile upon the eye, because slack nerves, 
if, at the same time, the look were also languid, 
would too much resemble sorrow, or even fear ; 
whereas, the purpose is disdain and insult. And 
though, in more provoking, serious cases, where 
the scorn admits disturbance, it assumes some sense 
of anger; it must still retain the slack, unguarded 
languor on the nerves, lest it should seem to have 
conceived impressions of some estimable or impor- 
tant weightiness, where its design is utter disregard 
and negligence. 

Ques. X. Why is jealousy expressed by mus- 
cles intense, and the look pensive, — or by the look 
intense, and the muscles languid interchangeably? 

Axs. Jealousy is doubtful anger struggling against 



Hill's Essay. 319 

faith and pity. It is a tenderness resisted by re- 
sentment of suspected injury; and thence, the 
nerves, braced strong, imply determination of re- 
venge and punishment. While, at the same time, 
a soft, pensive hesitation in the eye confesses a 
reluctance at the heart to part with, or efface, a 
gentle and indulged idea. 

Sometimes, again, it is rage at a concluded infi- 
delity, and then the eye receives and flashes out 
the sparklings of inflamed ideas ; while the muscles, 
counteracting the will's violence, from a repressive 
disposition of the heart, grow slack and loose their 
spring, and so disarm, or modify enraged imagi- 
nation. 

And from this unsettled wavering in the balance 
of the purpose, where the heart and judgment 
weigh each other, and both scales, by turns, pre- 
ponderate, is deduced a glowing picture of this 
passion. 

I have traveled now through ten pathetic stages, 
where an actor must not stop for rest, as in his 
other journies, but for labor; and such a labor will 
he truly find it (if he enters naturally into the de- 
mand of those strong passions), that neither mind 
nor body can be capable of choosing a more health- 
full}* fatiguing exercise. 

And this remark brings into my remembrance a 
great and general mistake among the players at 
rehearsal, where it is their common practice to mut- 
ter over their parts inwardly, and keep in their 
voices with a misimagined purpose of preserving 
them against their evening acting ; whereas, the 



3 20 A Plea for Spoken Lcmgicage. 

surest natural means of strengthening their delivery 
would be to warm, de-phlegm, and clarify the 
thorax and wind-pipe by exerting (the more fre- 
quently the better) their fullest power of utterance ; 
thereby to open and remove all hesitation, rough- 
ness, or obstruction, and to tune their voices by 
effect of such continual exercise, into habitual mel- 
lowness and ease of compass and inflection, just 
from the same reason that an active body is more 
strong and healthy than a sedentary one. 



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